


The place I belong

by Charlie_Bb



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, FLUFF EVENTUALLY, Journalist Stiles, M/M, Rock Band, Rock Star Derek, a little bit of angst, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-16 22:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 30,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1363639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_Bb/pseuds/Charlie_Bb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And once again Stiles felt the urge to go through Derek’s postcards one more time, as if the words Derek had written to him could help him somehow. They couldn’t, of course, but it felt nice bathing in the illusion – so he got up, reached the small bedroom and took the pile, carrying it back to the sofa.<br/>After the postcard from Milwaukee  he had received more, the latest just a couple of days before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So. I have literally no idea where this came from, one day I just started writing it and boom!, here it is. I will post the second part ASAP, I promise, I just need some more time to review it carefully. 
> 
> I messed up a bit with the ages, so that Derek and the twins are in their early 30s and Stiles and Scott just few years younger. 
> 
> Thanks to the lovely [ frerardestiel ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/frerardestiel) for the help. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now it's done I miss this universe a bit, and maybe one day I'll write a bit more about it. 
> 
> See you at the next chapter! xx
> 
> Sorry I forgot to rate this work as 'Mature' due to the sex scenes; I just changed it, so please forgive me!

Stiles had never thought being a journalist meant sitting at a stupid desk in a stupid office of a stupid town. He’d thought as a journalist he would go around and see the world, reporting everything, telling people how things really were – just not _this_.

It was another Friday afternoon at the Beacon Hills Post, the local newspaper, and Stiles was bored. He was formatting the front page for the millionth time, adding the ads just where his boss wanted them and looking at the clock by the wall, waiting for the hour hand to indicate five pm.

It was only fifteen minutes to go now and Stiles yawned, rubbing his eyes with his hands, when someone turned up at his desk.

“Stilinski,” his boss said, a guy his age whom he attended high school with. “Good news for you, weirdo. Derek Hale is coming back in town.”

Stiles looked at him blankly and shrugged. “Who?”

“Derek Hale?” Jackson Whittemore said giving Stiles a confused look. “The rock star?”

“Not much of a rock fan, ,Whittemore,” Stiles replied and Jackson (that jackass, Stiles would call him when he wasn’t around to listen) looked offended, as if Stiles had just misspelled one of his favourite stylist’s name. Stiles thought it really wasn’t a big deal, ignoring some new guy from the star system. Who cared anyway?

“Do your researches then, you’re gonna interview him tomorrow.”

Stiles hit his head on the desk repeatedly.

*

Apparently twenty-four hours were more than enough for Stiles to get information about this Hale guy, but then again research had always been Stiles’ thing.

So, the guy. Born and raised in Beacon Hills, California, had left home when he was eighteen to travel the world with his band, which included his elder sister Laura at the guitar and his best friends from high school at the drums and bass. The band started playing in pubs and clubs all around the States until some guy from one of the most important labels in the world noticed them and decided to give them a chance.

The band had signed its first contract under the name _The Wolves_ and recorded its first album, which was a success not only in the States. Derek and friends started their first tour and sold lots of copies of their album for millions and millions of dollars. Their second album made them famous worldwide and they kept on rocking the world up ever since.

Again, no big deal. Stiles wanted to be another kind of journalist, really, a _proper_ one, but that’s what Beacon Hills had to offer. He needed just a couple of years of a work experience in the local newspaper and a few good articles to try his luck with the New York Times. It wasn’t going to be easy, but Stiles knew he could make it. He was a good writer after all, he just needed to be patient about it.

Stiles reached the preserve and parked his old jeep right at the border, staring at the house rising before his eyes. God it was big, like real big, the ten bedrooms kind of big and Stiles immediately loved the smoothed wood, the white windows, the nice red front door.

He vaguely remembered the house as well, he probably had ran into it when he was a kid and used to spent most of his time running in the woods with Scott, his best friend. Who asked him to get him an autograph from Derek Hale as soon as he discovered about the interview.

Stiles grabbed his bag and walked to the house, trespassing the ‘Beware, private property’ sign at the entrance of the preserve. He’d never cared about it anyway.

Few seconds after he’d rang the doorbell a girl opened the door, long, dark brown hair and emerald green eyes. She was beautiful, Stiles absently registered.

“Yes?”

“Stiles Stilinski,” he told her showing his newspaper name card. “I’m here to interview – “

“My brother, yeah,” the girl – _Laura Hale_ – said with a smile, shifting to let him in. “He’ll be down in a sec. Have a seat.”

She lead him to a big, well-lighted living room, simply decorated and cosy. “Would you like something to drink?”

Stiles shook his head and smiled at her. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

“And young,” she added with a smirk, her green eyes shining brightly. “You’re just his type. I’m gonna call him.”

Before Stiles could even _think_ of asking what the hell she meant by ‘his type’ Laura had already rushed up the stairs, her footsteps echoing in the big, apparently empty, house.

*

“She said you were cute,” a voice behind him said and Stiles turned back immediately to face the guy, Derek Hale himself. He was more beautiful than Stiles had expected, with his muscles and tight jeans and the most amazing eyes Stiles had ever seen. He cleared his throat, jumping on his feet and offering his hand to the – _young, in his 30s at tops_ – man.

“Stiles Stilinski,” he said in a confident, not-shaking voice. “Beacon Hills Post. I’m here-“

“For the interview,” Derek finished for him ignoring his hand and walking to the table where several bottles laid, most of them containing whiskey. “I know. So, how you wanna do it?”

“Pardon?” Stiles asked just slightly shocked and Derek turned to him with a smirk on his handsome face.

“I rather like the sofa, but the dining table isn’t too bad either.”

*

Derek Hale was some kind of a maniac, all sexy jokes and two-way lines, and Stiles hated him almost immediately. The guy was arrogant, cocky, not to mention he was doing everything in his power to make Stiles uncomfortable.

“Thanks for your time,” Stiles said putting his notebook back in his bag. He stood up from the couch where he was sitting, just few inches away from Derek-freaking-Hale, and headed to the door, not bothering to offer him his hand this time. “It’s been _enlightening._ ”

Derek followed him to the door and watched him climb down the steps.

“See you soon, Stilinski.”

Stiles waved his hand without turning back to him and muttered a “Whatever,” under his breath.

*

When Stiles handed his article to Whittemore the guy took it with an avid look in his blue eyes, probably thinking of all the money he was gonna make out of it. Not that Stiles cared, he was not gonna see a penny from that, he would get just his usual basic shitty pay as always.

He left the office and headed downtown to meet Scott and give him his stupid autograph, so he wouldn’t have to listen to his whines any longer. Stiles found him at the small café they used to go to all the time when they were in high school, sitting at the same table they used to sit at, and a smile spontaneously stretched Stiles’ lips.

“Hey dude,” he said, approaching the table and taking a sit right in front of Scott. “What’s up?”

“Usual,” Scott told him with a shrug, then smiled greedily. “Where is it? Do you have it?”

“My God, Scott, you sound like a drug addicted,” Stiles laughed and took the piece of paper out of his working bag, handing it to Scott, who took it with a quick move of his hand. “Jeez, man.”

“Stiles, you don’t understand,” Scott said, opening the folded paper and looking at it in admiration. Then he made a face and looked again, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. “He’s one of the most famous singers _ever_ ,” he said absently, then returned his attention to Stiles. “Also, I think _this_ is for you.”

Stiles took the paper Scott was giving back and read it carefully as if it could’ve exploded before him. “No way,” he said, eyes wide open, “That guy is-“

He made a guttural sound and gave the paper back to Scott, who took it reverently.

“Why is Derek Hale giving you his number?” Scott asked then, seriously curious about the whole thing. There was something Stiles wasn’t telling him, and Scott remembered how upset and angry Stiles sounded on the phone after the interview. “Is he _hitting on you_? Oh my God, Stiles, this is-“

“Not gonna happen,” Stiles cut him off quickly.

“But he’s just-“

“ _Not in a million years_.”

*

Life can be awesome sometimes, all happy feelings and nice things and amazing turns and all that. Stiles thought his life was a bitch of some sort, giving him nothing but crap and frustration and horrible people who went by the name of Derek Hale.

Stiles had told Scott to burn the jackass’ phone number and though he wasn’t too sure his friend would’ve done it, he just hoped for the best. He wasn’t going to see that number again anyway, so Stiles considered that a small victory.

But Life, or Destiny, or whatever damn thing there was, had different plans for him and after being called in the boss’s office a Thursday afternoon he thought that calling Life a bitch was some kind of an euphemism.

“ _The Wolves_ are gonna play live here in Beacon Hills this Saturday night,” Jackson said, his face glowing with happiness – or greediness, as Stiles recognized it. “They granted us another interview, with the whole band this time.” He handed Stiles an envelope and smiled. “Bring McCall with you to take some pictures. Good pictures, and try not to piss the band off.”

Stiles sighed heavily as he took the envelope containing what he suspected be the tickets to the show. He refrained himself from gritting his teeth and nodded instead. “Will do.”

“You better,” Jackson told him with a warning look, then kicked him out of the office. Stiles got back to his desk thinking of all the possible ways he could kill the stupid Whittemore and get away with it. They had history of some sorts – Jackson used to be the jackass even in high school, the popular kid who had the popular girlfriend, the guy who made Stiles’ life pretty much a living hell. Stiles and Scott used to be the guys nobody wanted to hang out with, too nerdy, too unpopular and all that shit. Not that Stiles cared that much, he was used to it and spent his life avoiding those kids.

Still, when he applied for a job at the Post he had no idea Jackson was running it instead of his father, the rightful owner of Beacon Hills’ only newspaper.

And now Jackson looked like he was enjoying himself, forcing Stiles to write stupid articles about stupid bands. He was doing it on purpose, Stiles had no doubt, otherwise why not give the job to Greengberg? The guy was crazy about music.

Stiles sat at his desk and dialled Scott’s number. “I’ve got a job for you, and you’re gonna _love it_.”

*

Stiles loved to spend his Saturday nights at home in front of a movie or playing videogames, eating tons of junk food and drinking energy drinks all night. Jackson begged to differ, and this Saturday night Stiles picked Scott up and drove his jeep to Beacon Hills High School.

“I can’t believe we’re gonna meet the band,” Scott said in a dreamy voice, his eyes gazing to the school’s field where the stage had been put together. Stiles made him a face and showed his pass to the – big, scary – security guy at the entrance.

“Yeah, whatever.” He led Scott through the green grass to the big stage where people were running, busy with the lights and the sound system and whatever else needed to be checked before the show. Stiles went to talk to some guy from the team, leaving Scott looking around open mouthed and amazed.

“So, I’m gonna stay over there,” he said once he got back to his best friend, a notebook and a pen already in his hands. “They told me you can move around as much as you want, up and down the stage, as long as you don’t get in anybody’s way. Clear?”

“Crystal,” Scott smiled and walked away, turning on his professional camera and starting taking some pictures already. Stiles went back to the spot the guy from maintenance had pointed out for him and sat on an amplifier, writing his first impressions down on his notebook. As the minutes passed the field started getting crowded with people, mostly teenagers, taking their seats on the bleachers and filling the place with their chats.

Stiles kept on writing, the hundreds of voices just a buzz to his ears, until someone cleared his throat right next to him, maybe wanting for him to move.

“You should enjoy the view, not sit and write all alone,” a voice said and Stiles knew it was _him_ even before he looked up. He definitely enjoyed the view in that moment, gasping a bit as Derek Hale stood in front of him, his muscled legs wrapped in a pair of incredibly tight leather pants, a black stretched shirt showing his beautiful torso. Stiles couldn’t help but gulped at the view.

“Enjoy the view is not what I’m paid for,” he said in a sarcastic voice to hide his astonishment. “And I’m not one for live shows myself.”

Derek Hale smiled at him, an incredibly bright and wonderfully sexy smile. “You could as well enjoy yourself since you’re here,” he said looking right into Stiles’ eyes. “ _Have fun_ , Stilinski.”

And before Stiles could even think of a sarcastic reply Derek was gone, headed to the technicians for the sound-check. Stiles swallowed, his mouth dry, and shook his head to erase Derek fucking Hale from his thoughts.

*

Stiles wasn’t one for live shows, but _The Wolves_ were simply amazing.

The drum player looked like an animal, his big arms moving all around hitting the drum rolls hard and precisely. Laura Hale played the guitar as she was having an orgasm, her eyes closed, her mouth slightly opened; she ran along the stage, bothering each and every one of her band mates just to go back to her mic and sing along with her brother. The bass player was obviously the twin brother of the drummer, both handsome and terribly good looking; he and Laura seemed to hit it off great, playing side by side and smiling at each other all the time. 

Derek Hale was an animal. His voice was rough and husky, powerful and growling; he moved like an animal as well, like a predator, and Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off him, not even for a fraction of a second. Derek looked like a wolf in the woods, beautiful and fierce, ready to jump at his victims, to attack them. His moves were so sensual Stiles wasn’t actually surprised when the girls on the first line ended up “ _Aaaaw-ing”_ and screaming his name, their hands out to touch him.

And all the time Derek had been looking at Stiles, giving him shivers whenever their gazes met, looking as if he could eat Stiles up in just one bite.

Stiles wasn’t sure that annoyed him so much.

*

Meeting the band after the show felt like blessing somehow, and Stiles then realized how lucky he and Scott were. They had the privilege of a private meeting while all the fans out there could only dream of something like it. Stiles remembered their faces – dreamy, ecstatic – and he remembered how excited they were in the field, singing along and dancing and screaming. He had to admit live shows were not that bad after all.

“Stiles Stilinski, Beacon Hills Post,” he introduced himself to the half of the band he hadn’t met before. “This is Scott McCall, he’s gonna take a few pictures. Is it okay?”

“Yeah, cool,” one of the twins said, his blue eyes shining bright in the artificial light of the empty classroom they met at.

Laura casted Stiles a funny look, then sat on a school desk with her legs crossed and a smile on her face.

“Let’s do it,” she said with a smirk and seriously, what was wrong with the Hales? They were maniacs, that was it.

“Shouldn’t we wait-“

“No need to wait.” Derek entered the room with a smirk on his face and a towel around his sweating neck, and Stiles couldn’t help but notice how sexy he looked after the show. His skin was glowing with sweat, his eyes were shining bright and he looked a bit worn out, but the kind of _post-coital_ worn out. And it suited him. Stiles didn’t think about how that post-coital look would suit Derek in an unmade bed, or about how the way his skin would shine with post-coital sweat, nor about how Derek’s post-coital smile would look and feel like. No post-coital thinking were thought, at all.

Derek walked right in front of Stiles, glancing at him, then sat on the teacher’s desk with his legs wide apart.

“Okay,” Stiles muttered trying not to look at him and Scott grinned, the bastard. “Let’s get started.”

*

Scott got super excited when after the interview the band asked him and Stiles to join them for a drink at the Hale property.

Stiles didn’t think it was a good idea – it wasn’t a good idea _at all_ – but Scott really wanted to go and spend some time with one of his favourite bands _ever_ , and since he hadn’t come by his motorbike and came by Stiles’ jeep instead, he basically forced Stiles to accept the invitation.

So Stiles found himself hanging around in the big living room once again at one in the morning. The guys, he had to admit, knew how to party hard; they put lots of bottles of _everything_ on the table and started pouring shots of tequila for the six of them.

Derek never took his eyes off Stiles, and Stiles found out that it wasn’t getting on his nerves as much as he pretended.

Derek was sexy, the kind of guy Stiles thought he could never, ever have for himself. Still, Derek had shown interest in him since the very first time they had met, so maybe Stiles’ luck was finally turning around. Or maybe Derek was just the kind of guy who chose a prey and stick to it until he made the conquer.

With that lots of alcohol in his body Stiles didn’t really care much, so when he went upstairs to use the bathroom and found himself stuck in there with Derek he didn’t do anything to shut him out.

Derek smiled predatorily, confirming Stiles’ second hypothesis, and kissed him roughly, pushing him against the sink. Stiles thought about shoving him off for a second – but the second passed, and Stiles pretty much thought ‘ _Screw it_ ’ before letting Derek unzip his jeans and suck the life out of him with one of the most amazing blow-jobs of his entire life.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s head pulling him closer and right before Stiles could come in his mouth Derek pulled away, standing up between his legs again and Stiles shivered when Derek turned him around unzipping his own pants.

Stiles grabbed the sink and moaned loudly when Derek pushed himself inside of him in a slow, careful move. Derek placed a hand on Stiles’ stomach and the other on his hips as he pushed a bit deeper and god, Stiles thought he was gonna die there and then with Derek inside.

Derek placed a soft, wet kiss on the back of Stiles’ neck and bit him lightly as he started thrusting inside of him with every spark of energy he had and Stiles groaned, holding Derek’s hand on his hips and bending a bit more to get the right angle.

He came with an explosion behind his close eyelids, fireworks bursting inside and all around him and when Derek came, a powerful thrust later, Stiles’ mind went blank.

*

About one week after _The Wolves_ had played in Beacon Hills Stiles casually found out, reading the New York Times, that they were gonna play in Madison Square Garden that same night.

He ignored the squeeze of his heart as he kept on reading the newspaper, his coffee getting cold on the café table he was sitting at.

It wasn’t like Stiles had expected Derek Hale to call him after their wonderful shag in the toilet, it wasn’t like it _at all_. Just, Stiles had thought that maybe – maybe something else would’ve happened, he didn’t really thought about _what_ exactly but, well.

Apparently, Derek Hale begged to differ and Stiles should’ve seen it coming, really. When they had first met he had gotten Derek was the kind of guy who didn’t give a damn about others, who just wanted to have a good time. Still he had let him fuck him – the best fuck of his life and yeah, okay, maybe Derek was an asshole but it was definitely worth it.

When he spotted Scott across the street Stiles shook Derek Hale away from his mind and forced himself into a friendly smile to avoid stupid questions from his best friend.

*

 _“Derek Hale, leader of the rock band_ The Wolves, _was caught with an astonishingly beautiful brunette out of one of New York’s finest restaurants. More on pg. 5.”_

Stiles briefly looked at the picture of the two out of the famous restaurant and folded up the newspaper in a twitch, leaving it on the kitchen table and getting up quickly to get to work.

*

“You never gave him your number, did you?” Scott asked one night, out of the blue, from the sofa they were sitting on in Stiles’ small living room. Stiles scowled at him, then shrugged and turned his attention back on the videogame they were still playing.

“Stiles,” Scott called out for him in a moaning voice. “You’re seriously telling me you let him go _just like that_?!”

Stiles shrugged again and thanked himself for not telling Scott the real events of that evening. It was just private, that was it, something Stiles didn’t need to share with his best friend for once, and if Scott had known he would’ve gotten on Stiles’ back about it for, like, ever.

Thing was, Stiles didn’t feel like telling Scott about the fun he and stupid Derek Hale shared in the bathroom, and Scott was already getting on his nerves as he was, babbling about the stupid rock star all the freaking time as if the guy was Stiles’ soul mate or something. Derek Hale was not Stiles’ soul mate, thank you very much. He was just a guy Stiles had fucked, end of the story.

Stiles ignored his pounding heart at the mere thought of Derek and opened another energy drink instead.

*

When Stiles woke up that Sunday morning he didn’t really pay attention to anything except the coffee he was gonna make. He stumbled to the kitchen, yawning repeatedly, and started the coffee machine wondering what he could have for breakfast. He opened the cupboard only to find it sadly empty and yes, it was _that time_ of the month, the time he hated the most: grocery shopping.

He sighed and poured himself a nice, hot cup of coffee thinking about going to the café just around the corner for some decent blueberry pancakes. That café didn’t offer much more, their coffee always burnt, their eggs too dry so yeah, pancakes were the only good choice. Also, going there meant no need to get dressed and go in the sweat pants he used as a pyjamas, his day was getting better already.

He drank up the coffee in a couple of generous sips and put his sneakers on altogether with an old red hoodie. He walked to the door and took his keys and mobile, then noticed the mail laying on the ground. Weird, there was no delivery on Sundays.

Stiles took the envelope – just one, light brown, no stamp - and turned it in his hands. His address wasn’t written anywhere, as well as the sender’s.

Stiles left the apartment and opened the envelope as he walked to the café; when he looked inside he felt the urge to punch something because, come on, was that a joke? A bad one, probably, and Stiles glared at the ticket in his hands as if he’d wanted to burn it just by looking at it. Which was partly true, and if he’d had superpowers he would’ve done it already. Still, the ticket.

When he sat down and ordered his pancakes Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about why the hell someone would’ve wanted to send him a ticket to the next _The Wolves_ ’ live show. It had to be Scott, he thought covering his pancakes in maple syrup, there was no alternative. Only, why would Scott send him the ticket and not give it to him next time they met?

When his phone started to ring Stiles looked at the screen where an unknown number was flashing. He picked up. “Yes?”

 _I believe you should have the ticket by now_ , a voice said and Stiles goggled at his half eaten pancakes.

“How the hell did you get my number?” he asked in a half surprised, half mad voice and Derek Hale laughed at the other end of the line, a row, husky laugh that made Stiles shiver a bit.

 _I was expecting at least a ‘Thank you for the ticket’, but I guess that’ll do_.

Stiles took a deep breath as the picture of Derek and the brunette came to his mind flashing like a neon light. “How did you get my number?” he asked again, hoping he would get luckier this time. Apparently he was wrong.

_I’ll see you in LA, tomorrow night. There’s a pass waiting for you at the entrance._

Before Stiles could start arguing that, hey!, he wasn’t gonna go anywhere tomorrow night, Derek hung up, leaving him to deal with a dead phone line. Stiles barely refrained himself from throwing the phone to the wall.

*

Stiles didn’t know exactly why he asked Jackson for a couple of days off since he really didn’t feel like meeting Derek stupid Hale again. Still, that Monday in the early afternoon he jumped on his jeep and drove all the way to the city of the Angels, muttering to himself how much of a bad idea that was. His jeep could’ve left him in the middle of nowhere, anything could’ve gone the wrong way and, most important, seeing Derek again wasn’t really one of his priorities.

But he got to Los Angeles.

It was late afternoon when he got to the El Ray theatre parking lot and the queue in front of the place was already long; people were talking, drinking, laughing and Stiles sighed when he took his place at the end of the line. Really, why was he doing this?

Few people from the theatre’s staff were walking around to make sure everything was okay with the line and one of them – a big, well-built guy with an unfriendly face and hands who could’ve crushed someone’s head easily – stopped right in front of him, glaring at Stiles as if he was planning to murder him in cold blood.

Stiles of course smiled to him and waved his hand in a friendly ‘Hello’, but the guy didn’t look impressed at all. His hands ran to his pockets and he picked what looked like a picture; he looked at it, than back at Stiles and Stiles couldn’t help but shivered a bit. That guy was creepy, really.

“Stilinski?” the man said in a low, threatening voice and Stiles nodded, speechless. “From the Beacon Hills Post?”

Again, Stiles nodded. “That would be me, yeah.”

“Come with me,” the guy replied without even blinking and Stiles seriously thought about running away instead. Come on, he hadn’t come to LA in a long, long time and there was no way he’d messed around so much to piss some stupid guy off. And he’d never seen the guy before so, yeah.

“Can-“

“Now.”

Stiles sighed at that voice and stepped out of the line to follow him, a miserable look on his face. The man led him all the way to El Ray entrance and pushed him inside as everyone from the queue was watching.

The theatre was smaller than Stiles had expected. The lights were still on and there were technicians everywhere dealing with the smoke effects, light effects and sound system. The stage was right at the front, square and black, and all the instruments were already there altogether with the amplifications.

“Take this,” the man told him and Stiles looked back at him. He slowly took the pass the guy was handing over and put it around his neck.

“Thanks?”

“Yeah,” the guy shrugged. “Paul there will take you to the backstage.” And without another word the man left Stiles alone to look around and try to understand if Paul was the guy at the light effects or the one next to him dealing with the mics. He walked towards them and tried his luck with the mic guy, clearing his throat when he was standing right behind him.

“Paul?” Stiles asked and the guy turned around immediately. He was in his thirties, tops, and had a nice, funny face with big chocolate eyes that reminded Stiles of Scott. Paul also had a nice, friendly smile and Stiles thanked the gods for that. No more psychos, thanks.

“Stilinski, I get?” Paul asked jumping on his feet and holding Stiles’ hand. “We were waiting for you.”

“Were you?” Stiles asked not without a shade of surprise in his voice. Paul smiled again and Stiles liked him already, he looked like a fun kind of guy, definitely easy going.

“Hale told us you were coming,” Paul explained as he walked Stiles around the theatre. “Showed us a pic so we would recognize you and get you in, since you didn’t have your pass yet.”

“And which Hale would that be?”

“You know them both, I guess,” Paul said skipping a wire and waving hello to some of his co-workers. “Derek Hale, but even Laura looked excited about having you here.”

“Did she?”

“Yeah, and the twins as well. They seem to like you a lot, Stilinski.”

“Stiles,” he corrected him automatically and Paul asked, “What?”

“Stiles,” he said with a smile. “My name is Stiles.”

“ _Stiles Stilinski_?” Paul asked with a shocked face as they walked to the left side of the stage and Stiles laughed.

“Don’t ask.”

“I promise I won’t.” Paul smiled as he led Stiles to the backstage where lots of other people were busy running in all directions; they walked through them and Paul stopped right in front a door that led to a small room. “You can go pretty much everywhere you want, the backstage and the floor where everyone will be. I’d advise sticking to the backstage, you’ll get a better view from there, but whenever you want to go back to the crowd you can do as well, and all of your drinks have already been paid for.”

“Oh, okay,” Stiles muttered looking at Paul and the door alternatively, his heart pounding in his chest.

“See you later, Stiles,” Paul said and waved him goodbye, leaving him standing in front of the door with an anxious face. So that was it, he was gonna see Derek Hale again, and now Stiles was even more convinced that was _not_ a good idea _at all_. What was he gonna say to him? Were they supposed to talk like good old friends and forget about their encounter in the bathroom or what? Stiles hesitantly put his hand on the door knob, ready to turn it and get inside when someone else from the room saved him the embarrassment and slammed the door open, hitting Stiles unknowingly.

Stiles’ hands ran to his nose as he moaned in pain. “What the hell is your problem?” he yelled at a mad-looking Derek. “Christ’ sake, you were gonna break my nose, you stupid idiot!”

“I wouldn’t have done anything if you wouldn’t have been creepily standing out there.”

“I was gonna _get inside_ , you dumbass,” Stiles yelled removing his hands from his face and looking at the few drops of blood on it. “Dammit.”

“Here, let me,” Derek said, the anger in his voice fading away as the memory of a bad dream, and Stiles stepped back instinctively. Derek’s eyes glared as he raised his – wonderful, totally capable of doing bad, bad things to Stiles – hands to gently touch his face. His fingers were warm, Stiles noticed, and gentler than he’d expected as they caressed the skin and wiped the blood away.

“Ouch,” Stiles said – and no, it didn’t matter that Derek’s fingers weren’t actually hurting him, it was just fair for him to complain after Derek had slammed the door in his already stupid face.

“Don’t be such a kid,” Derek scolded him but a smile slowly stretching his lips made that kind of ineffective. “Let’s go get some ice to put on that.”

Stiles scowled at him but nodded, secretly enjoying the feeling of Derek’s hands on him. It was warm and tickling where he touched him and Stiles felt like a super stupid dumbass for thinking how badly he wanted Derek’s hands back on him again. He throttled behind Derek, probably to the bar, when a male voice yelling caught Stiles’ attention.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going, Hale? We’re not done yet!”

Derek froze for a moment and Stiles stopped by his side, looking at him and back at the room Derek had come out from. A good looking man in jeans and leather jacket was standing by the door, his face red, his eyes furious.

Derek kept on walking and Stiles followed him, but the man didn’t seem to get that the conversation was over as he shouted, “I’m not gonna let you blow your fucking career like this!”

Derek tensed next to him and Stiles kept silent, looking at him from time to time as they reached the bar and Derek asked for a pack of ice in a husky, rocky voice. Stiles took it and put it on his nose, sitting down on a footstool at the counter, Derek standing right beside him with a mad look on his beautiful face.

“Wanna tell me what that was about?” Stiles asked in a quiet voice and when Derek turned to face him his eyes were glowing.

“So you can go write an article about it?” he said in an angry tone and Stiles put the ice down on the counter in a twitch.

“Next time I’ll think of saying something nice to you I’ll remember to bite my tongue off first,” he hissed, standing up quickly. The words ‘ _horrible idea_ ’ came to his mind once again as he stepped away from the stupid rock-star he came for in the first place, but a hand firmly held to his wrist stopped him.

“What?” he almost yelled, turning back to Derek only to find an apologetic look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” Derek told him in a rough voice, his eyes fixed in Stiles’. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you. Please, stay.”

Stiles sighed at the sight of Derek’s sad look, and slowly went back to his seat. Derek, he noticed, looked tired, worn out, but there was something else; he looked angry as if someone had managed to really piss him off, and he looked frustrated, bothered by something Stiles wasn’t supposed to know about. He looked kinda broken, so different from the Derek Stiles had met before.

“I told everyone to keep an eye out for you,” Derek continued in a lighter voice and Stiles’ heart skipped a beat in his chest. “I didn’t know if you were actually coming, still-“

“You gave people a picture of me!” Stiles yelled, hiding a small smile. “And I don’t even wanna know how you got my picture in the first place. You’re creepy, has anybody told you that?”

“Once or twice,” Derek offered together with a shy smile and Stiles couldn’t believe his eyes, the guy didn’t look like the asshole he was at their first interview. He looked so different Stiles could barely believe it was the same guy at all, maybe he was some kind of borderline or something. Stiles told himself to stop going for the desperate cases, but he knew that wasn’t really gonna happen. He didn’t like his guys happy and stupid and superficial, he had to go for the complex ones, for the ones who gave him headaches, and heartaches and aches in general.

“So, you’re here,” Derek said looking at Stiles with something in his green eyes Stiles could not recognize.

“I’m here,” he replied shifting his look from Derek to the stage and the room. The techs were almost done with everything and that meant the band would’ve had to go for the sound-check soon.

“Laura will be happy to know.”

“Your sister is as creepy as you are,” Stiles said, but he was smiling and Derek smiled back when he said, “Oh, she’s way worse.”

*

Right after the sound-check and before the doors opened to let the people in Stiles had the chance to meet the band again, and as Paul had told him everyone was genuinely happy to have him there. The twins welcomed him with bright smiles and pats on the back while Laura briefly hugged him with a smirk on her face. Stiles truly didn’t know how they could like him so much after only one evening together, but he kinda liked them back so, yeah, that was pretty much okay.

Then people started streaming into the theatre, their voices loud and their happy laughter filling up the room. Stiles watched their smiles from the corner of the stage he was standing in and that warm feeling he felt back at the Beacon Hills High School field warmed his chest up again, nice and cosy and oddly familiar. Seeing all those people reunited there for their favourite band was heart-warming really, it gave out a sense of union Stiles had never found anywhere else and he happened to like it. A lot. He could only imagine how the band felt about it, people being there _for them_ ; it must’ve been overwhelming, according to their bright eyes and laughs. They must’ve loved it so much, and it wasn’t about being famous, Stiles had gotten that bit – no, it was about doing what they loved and sharing it with people from all over the Country, the world even.

Stiles didn’t notice Derek was approaching him until he found him standing right beside him, so close he could smell his aftershave, his bare skin.

“Don’t take your eyes off me,” Derek said in a low, barely audible voice, his fingers slowly caressing Stiles’ hip. Stiles felt a shiver running down his spine and a familiar heat spreading through his lower belly, Derek’s lips so close to his they were only a breath away from kissing.

 _As if I could_ , Stiles thought but swallowed those words down and nodded blankly. “I won’t,” he whispered on Derek’s lips and didn’t care much about Laura’s even wider grin as she passed them to go and get her guitar.

When Derek left him for the mic, Stiles felt cold all of a sudden.

*

The crowd was singing and screaming loudly, everyone dancing and jumping around, and Stiles enjoyed every second of it.

He couldn’t take his eyes off Derek as well, and it had nothing to do with Derek asking him to do so. It had everything to do with Derek’s voice instead, with his wolf-like moves, with the way he was hypnotizing the crowd with his eyes. It had a little to do with Derek taking off his shirt in a surge of excitement, even.

And Derek was looking at his crowd, at the hundreds of hands raised towards him, but he was singing for Stiles and Stiles felt it, he felt Derek’s eyes on him, he felt Derek’s voice hitting his body in a rough caress and god, wasn’t he half-hard already.

Derek never approached Stiles during the live, but Stiles noticed the way Derek stick to the side of the stage where he was standing, half hidden behind amplifiers and other stuff. Stiles didn’t miss the bulge in Derek’s pants as well.

*

Few seconds before the show ended Paul came to take Stiles away from the stage, right to the room in front of which Stiles had gotten his nose smashed. A bit.

It was kind of a small room, simple and almost empty except for the two sofas and the small coffee table right in the middle of it. Paul told him to wait there and Stiles took a seat, his body still shivering with adrenaline caused by Derek and _The Wolves_ ’ performance. The guys were absolutely amazing, they rocked the crowd and the theatre with their strong music and great abilities to keep everyone entertained. Stiles hadn’t missed the way Laura and Aiden smiled to each other, nor the way they bothered each other on regular basis, touching and rubbing against each other’s body.

The crowd was still shouting in ecstasy when the door opened and Derek got in, locking it up from the inside. He walked towards Stiles with the animalistic moves he had on the stage and Stiles unconsciously gulped, swallowing nothing but thin air.

When Derek kissed him roughly Stiles burst into an obscene moan, grabbing his shoulders and rubbing their hip bones together in a delicious friction that made them both groan.

Derek bit Stiles’ lips, gently torturing it with his teeth, then placed wet kisses down his throat and Stiles thought he could’ve come there and then only by Derek’s dirty kisses. When Derek pushed him back Stiles didn’t fight it and he fell backwards on the sofa instead, Derek moving sensually between his legs.

Stiles found the hem of the shirt Derek had put back on after the show and sneaked his hands inside, caressing Derek’s back and going down to take care of the leather pants a second later. Derek was already hard against him and moaned loudly when Stiles unzipped his pants and grabbed his cock in one hand, stroking it at a fast pace. Derek pushed himself into Stiles’ hand and freed him from his jeans, pulling out just to take them off.

When Derek slithered back in his rightful place Stiles grabbed his ass, pulling him closer and asking for more. Derek slid in him in a rough move and Stiles bit his shoulder to suffocate a shriek; when he thought it was safe for him to let go of Derek skin Stiles tilted his head back, hitting the arm of the sofa and muttering an heart-felt, “ _Fuck_ ,” under his breath.

Derek got back to violate Stiles’ lips as he pushed himself deeper into him, swallowing each and every one of his moans, basking in his heat and drowning in his beautiful eyes. He needed Stiles, he needed him so badly it was almost a physical pain when Stiles wasn’t there, when he couldn’t see his eyes or his smile, and Derek didn’t know how that was possible but Stiles had made him feel different since the first time they’d met. Stiles didn’t care about who Derek was, or about his money and his fame; Stiles didn’t get impressed by any of his shit and treated him as an equal, as the normal guy Derek so desperately wanted to be.

Derek took Stiles’ heat, stole him kisses and moans and shivers and that was all he could ask for. When Stiles came in a hot stream between them Derek kissed him again and came inside of him, moaning in his mouth.

*

After the super-hot sex in the El Rey backroom Stiles let Derek lead him to his car – a black, shiny Camaro Stiles loved immediately – and to an hotel where _The Wolves_ were staying for the night. Stiles tried not to blush too much when Derek brought him to meet the band and have a few drinks together, Laura grinning so hard Stiles was seriously worried about the early wrinkles she was gonna get.

Derek didn’t leave his side and kept on stroking his back with a smoothing hand, and Stiles felt a warm feeling wrapping him up. It felt nice.

“So, Stiles,” Aiden said with a smile, sipping a cold beer. “When are we gonna read your article?”

“It’s gonna be ready in a couple of days,” Stiles replied accepting the beer Derek was handing him. “Then someone is gonna take care of the layout and we’ll print it with the Sunday edition, I think.”

“Great,” Ethan said pouring himself a second glass of dark whiskey. “Send us a copy.”

“Will do.”

Derek’s phone rang and buzzed on the bed, distracting everyone from the conversation, and when Derek looked at the screen his face darkened. He stood up quickly and got out on the terrace, leaving Stiles and the others to catch up.

Laura looked concerned, Stiles noticed, not too much into the conversation anymore and glancing at her brother every now and then. Ethan coughed to get Stiles’ attention back on him and offered him a whiskey Stiles refused.

“Never thought of moving to a bigger journal?” he asked in a friendly voice and Stiles nodded.

“Constantly,” he replied glancing at the terrace. Derek wasn’t in sight, so he must’ve moved from where all of them could see him. Stiles shook his head and looked back at Ethan. “I just need two years of experience and few good articles before I can try, so I’m stuck at the BH Post for – another year and a half? Man, that’s a long time.”

Aiden laughed and poured four tequilas, handing one to each of them. “Here, drink this. It’ll help you forget for a while.”

Stiles left his beer on the coffee table and raised his tequila shot to the others. “To shitty jobs,” he said, then added, “on a second thought, you guys don’t have shitty jobs, so, correction: to my shitty job and to the amazing things you do for a living.”

“Cheers,” the twins said and smiled in sync. They all drank up the shots and left the empty glasses on the table, taking back the beers. Laura’s smile had faded away since Derek left the room and when she decided to go after him Stiles didn’t miss the look on her face. He followed her with his eyes to the screen-door where Derek was standing, the phone in his hands and a murderous look on his face. He opened the door but Laura moved faster and pushed him back outside, slamming the door shut behind them.

“Ahem,” Ethan said and Stiles looked back at him just for a second before turning to the terrace again. Laura and Derek were animatedly discussing; she was gesturing like crazy and Derek was completely still, only his lips moving, his eyes darting to the room and back to her.

“Troubles in heaven,” Aiden intervened, an apologetic look on his face.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked, genetically incapable of shutting his mouth when needed.

Ethan and Aiden exchanged a meaningful look and turned back to him.

“It’s Peter,” Aiden explained with a pitiful look, “he’s our manager, and Derek and Laura’s uncle. He and Derek fight a lot.”

“Oh,” Stiles muttered, thinking about the guy he’d seen earlier that day. The handsome guy in the leather jacket who’d yelled after Derek and Stiles wondered what kind of troubles did they have. The guy, Peter, looked beyond furious and Stiles remembered how Derek had frozen, livid, his whole body tense and ready to jump.

Derek hurried back inside and Laura was right after him. “I’m on your side, you idiot,” she yelled but Derek didn’t reply, nor he did look back at her. He only tilted his head at Stiles as to ask him to follow and Stiles jumped on his feet, his jacket already in his hands.

“Derek, for God’s sake-“

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Laura.”

Stiles looked at the twins as to bid goodbye; he quickly looked at Laura and noticed she was on the edge, tears hiding behind her beautiful eyes. He gave her a sympathetic look and rushed after Derek, who was already out on the hotel corridor. Stiles followed him quietly to his room, one floor up, and when he closed the door Derek pushed him against it, kissing the life out of him, pressing his body against Stiles’.

Stiles let him bite his lips again and felt how needy Derek was, how angry and upset but no, they were not gonna have that kind of sex, Stiles didn’t want Derek to take his shit out on him like that. So he ran his fingers through Derek’s hair smoothly and caressed Derek’s back slowly until he felt him ease a bit. Stiles gently pushed him backwards and Derek never stopped kissing him, never stopped touching him, as if Stiles had been the only thing to keep him anchored in a time like that.

Stiles kept on leading Derek until he hit the edge of the bed and sat on it. He made him slide upwards until Derek laid there with his head on the pillow and slowly topped him, kissing him gently, taking his time to taste his body as he undressed him deliberately. Derek was breathing heavily underneath him, his hands rushing to touch every inch of Stiles’ skin he could find, but Stiles begged to differ.

He kissed Derek’s neck, his torso, the perfect V emerging out of his boxers. He freed Derek of the underwear as well, undressing himself bit by bit in front of Derek’s hungry eyes, then slowly slid on top of him again until their bodies adhered perfectly. Stiles moved quietly as he impaled himself on Derek, keeping his eyes into the other’s, and a low moan escaped his mouth as he took Derek inside of him completely.

Derek’s hands slid to Stiles’ hips and caressed it slowly, heart pounding in his chest as Stiles moved at a slow pace, hands running to cup Derek’s.

Derek felt the heat burning him from inside as Stiles’ eyes didn’t leave him for a second and that was – that was nothing like before. That wasn’t sex as Derek had always had it – rough, needy; that was a completely different level of need, that was the need for someone to care enough about him to give him something more than mere sex. Stiles wasn’t letting Derek fuck him – even if Derek couldn’t stop thinking of how badly _he got fucked_ by Stiles.

Stiles was guiding Derek in something deeper than a damn good shag, showing Derek there was so much more to it. Stiles was making _love_ to him, to his whole body; Stiles was making love to Derek’s eyes by only looking right into them and Derek felt exposed like never before, like Stiles could get everything he was out of his eyes and it was scary, letting someone get that much about him, but it felt warm and Derek liked it.

When Stiles came, Derek’s hand around his hard dick, he didn’t stop moving at the same slow pace until Derek finally gave in into the most exciting orgasm of his whole life.

Stiles pushed himself up slowly and lied down next to him, placing a chaste kiss on Derek’s lips, curling up to his chest as the sleepiness caught him and he let himself slide into oblivion. Derek kissed him one last time and put his arms around his body, inspiring the intoxicating smell of his skin.

*

When Derek woke up the next morning the bed was empty.

He yawned and rubbed his eyes, getting used to the light filtering through the hotel windows. The door to the bathroom was open but there wasn’t any noise coming from inside. Derek abandoned the warmth of the bed, the sheets an indistinguishable mess, put on his boxers and reached the bathroom looking inside just to find it empty.

When he finally realized Stiles was nowhere inside the room Derek took a quick shower, dressed up and left, heading to the restaurant where maybe Stiles had gone to grab some breakfast. The room wasn’t crowded at all and Derek looked all around, but Stiles wasn’t there. Laura, on the other hand, was.

She was sitting alone at a round table, a hot cup of coffee in front of her, absently nibbling at a plate with eggs, bacon and croissant. When she saw him standing in the room she tilted her head in his direction and Derek sighed as he walked towards her, sitting at the empty chair in front of her.

“So you’re not completely avoiding me?” she asked with a serious expression painted on her face. “Look, Der, I know-“

“Did you see Stiles this morning?” Derek interrupted her, turning his head to take another look at the room just in case Stiles had suddenly appeared. She shook her head no, looking right into his eyes.

“He must be around somewhere,” she said in a quiet voice. “Derek, we seriously need to talk about this.”

“So you can tell me all over again everything Peter already has?” Derek replied raising an eyebrow at her. “Thanks, I think I’ll pass.”

“How the hell am I supposed to put in your stupid head that _I’m on your side on this_?” Laura almost yelled as she scowled at him, then she lowered her voice. “Look, I just said he might have a point, I never said I agree on what he’s suggesting. Der, you’re my brother for fuck’s sake, and I will never want to see you unhappy – or miserable as you’ve been for the past few months.”

Derek moved uncomfortably on his chair, looking everywhere but at her. “So what do you think we should do, huh? Do as Peter says to get the feedback he wants or-“

“For Christ’ sake, Der,” Laura told him in an irritate voice. “I think _you_ should do whatever you think it’s right and I don’t give a fuck about the consequences. I’m super happy we got where we got in the first place, don’t really care about the rest if it’s making you feel so down. The guys are with me on this, we don’t give a damn about what the press might say, family first.”

She offered him a small smile and Derek sighed. _The Wolves_ were a family, and it didn’t matter if they weren’t all actually blood-related; Ethan and Aiden were family, all the four of them, they were a pack – hence the name. Since they had met in high school they’d become more than just friends, they’d always been each other’s home, a safe place, a shelter when the world outside was spinning too fast. Derek knew they all cared about him the same way he cared about them – unconditionally, holding on to what they had and ready to defend it for dear life.

“So if I decided to-“

“We’d still be here, you asshole,” Laura smiled cupping his hand with hers. “You deserve better, bro, and we’ve all seen the way you light up when Stiles is around.”

Derek couldn’t help but smile a little at the thought of Stiles, of his smiles and lips, of his pale skin and of all his stupid moles. Stiles had brought some light into the chaos that was his life and yeah, the only thought of him would make Derek smile as a teenager dealing with his first crush.

“I’ll deal with Peter later,” Derek said and stood up giving Laura a shy thankful smile. “Laura-“

“Yeah, I know.” She waved a hand at him and smiled back. “Now go and find that precious journalist of yours.”

Derek silently thanked her with a tilt of his head and left the restaurant, heading to the hall. He spent almost half an hour looking everywhere – the gym, the pool, the restaurant again – and finally headed back to his room, but Stiles hadn’t come back there. Derek picked his phone and scrolled down his contacts to find Stiles’ number; he clicked on the green button and pushed the mobile to his ear, waiting for Stiles to pick it up.

Derek didn’t expect to reach his voice mail instead, and tried again and again without any luck. What if something had happened to him? Had he just left? That was unlikely.

Derek tried one last time and when Stiles’ familiar registered voice told him to _try again because Stiles was probably in the middle of something with some hot guy_ Derek gave up, dialling another number instead.

 _Derek?_ A surprised voice picked up almost immediately. _What’s up?_

“Stiles,” Derek said in a low, worried voice. “I can’t find him anywhere. Scott, do you have any idea of-“

_Look, Derek, I probably shouldn’t tell you-_

“Same way you shouldn’t have called me in the first place or given me his phone number?”

_Stiles was never gonna call you, dude. I had to do it, for his stupid sake. I knew he liked you even before he knew himself. It’s just-_

“What, Scott? Where is he?” Derek asked and heard Scott’s loud sigh on the phone. He knew something, that was for sure; he knew why Derek couldn’t find Stiles anywhere, Scott knew what had happened to make Stiles disappear without even a goodbye. Derek felt a cold, vicious fear get hold of his gut as he thought of all the horrible things that could’ve happened to Stiles, his hands held together so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

_Look, just- he’s alright, okay?_

“Where is he, Scott?”

 _Derek, I can’t- just check your inbox_.

When Scott suddenly hung up on him Derek looked at the mobile with an interrogative expression on his face. He did as he’d been told, opened his inbox and checked the texts, his eyes widening as he saw the last one. It was from earlier that morning and it checked as read but Derek hadn’t been the one to read it, deep asleep as he’d been next to Stiles.

Apparently Stiles had read the text, out of curiosity or something; Derek remembered his mobile slipping from his jeans on to the bed, he remembered Stiles putting it away on the bedside table. _Fuck_.

_Talked to Peter last night. I’ll meet you next week in Vegas. Love xxx_

*

Scott rang the doorbell of Stiles’ apartment early that afternoon, bags with junk food and beer to feed an army in his hands. When Stiles opened the door Scott noticed how awful he looked, his hair a complete mess, his skin pale. He looked tired, and his lips were stretched in a straight line that tended to curve downwards.

“Dude, you look like shit,” Scott told him as he stepped inside, pulling his best friend into a suffocating hug. Stiles’ attempt of a smile wasn’t even close to a smirk and he led the way to the small living room, sitting on the sofa and looking back at Scott as he placed the bags on the coffee table before sitting right next to him.

“Wanna tell me what the hell happened?” Scott asked in a soft voice and Stiles sighed, cupping his face in his hands.

“From the beginning?”

“From the beginning.”

“Oh, well.” Stiles took a deep breath and told him about the night at the Hale house, about how he’d let Derek fuck him altogether with all of the good purposes Stiles had thrust upon himself the year before, after the breakup with his previous boyfriend. He told him about how much he seemed to like Derek despite of his stupid rock-star behaviour, about how he found the ticket to the LA show few days before.

Stiles told him how different Derek looked back at the El Rey, not cocky and arrogant as the first time they’d met; he told Scott how _nice_ Derek actually was if one had the patience to pass over his dumb attitude. He told him how they made love, how deep it felt, how _important_.

And then, the text.

Stiles told Scott about the newspaper he’d found weeks before, about the article that saw Derek leaving a posh restaurant in New York with a stunningly beautiful brunette.

“I don’t know if the text was actually from her, but seems likely,” Stiles said sipping his beer and refusing to look at his best friend to prevent Scott from seeing how really fucked up he was at the moment. But Scott knew, of course he knew, they were like brothers after all, grew up together and everything.

“Dude, what if-“

“What, Scott,” Stiles let out in a low, tired voice. “What if it’s not what it looks like? Trust me, _it is_.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott offered, a sincere apologetic look on his puppy face and Stiles shrugged as to push Derek away from his thought even though he knew it was almost impossible. Derek had something – he was special, Stiles knew that. He wasn’t as special as Stiles thought he was maybe, still there was something in Derek’s eyes that made Stiles believe he wasn’t at all like he pretended to be. God, it was a shit mess, that’s what it was.

“Here,” Scott said handing over a bag of nachos, heading to the DVD player and inserting a new DVD inside. He took the remote and went back to the sofa, sitting just a bit closer to Stiles now.

When a time vortex appeared on the screen together with the title music Stiles took a breath and let the world outside vanish for a while.

*

Working for the Beacon Hills Post under Jackson Whittemore’s leadership was never gonna get easier, Stiles knew it well.

He gave Jackson his latest article about Beacon Hills’ Police Department as Jackson had asked and went back to his desk, sitting on his chair with a low groan. It was only nine a.m., there was no way he was gonna get through the day. Five p.m. looked so distant then, and Stiles did his best not to think about it.

Stiles turned the old computer on and took the draft of their next front page Greengberg had left on his desk, giving it life on the screen. He moved the ads around, placing the articles on the front and adjusting the sizes, and he’d never liked that job much but today it was simply worse.

He couldn’t focus, his eyes kept gazing off the screen to wander around the room instead and his mind, well, his mind was nowhere to be found since he’d left it in a hotel room back in LA.

He never stopped thinking about Derek once since the early morning he drove off back to Beacon Hills without as much as a goodbye to him. Stiles knew he’d been a coward of some sort, still he’d just gone mad after he’d seen the text on Derek’s mobile. He should’ve known better than to trust the guy, let Derek play him like that.

When Stiles’ phone started buzzing on his desk he quickly checked the display, then shut the call down and went for a coffee instead.

*

Stiles was thinking about getting a new mobile number, but he was so affectionate to the one he had he just shook the thought out of his head and turned down another one of Derek’s calls.

Derek hadn’t stopped trying to reach him, Stiles had to give him that at least. Not that it mattered.

Stiles abandoned the phone in his jeep as he got out and headed to the Police Station to meet his dad for lunch. He passed past few officers and waved his hand hello before he reached his father’s office and got inside without even knocking. The Sheriff looked up from the reports he was filling and sighed dejectedly.

“Do you ever bother to knock, I wonder,” he said in a reprimanding voice and Stiles grinned at him, sitting on a chair in front of his desk.

“Knocking is for losers,” he said tapping his fingers on the wooden table and turning few files to face him so he could read them. His father slapped his hands and took the files back as he scowled at him. Not that Stiles cared much. He’d grown up in that station, he knew everyone around there, not to mention he’d always been a meddler in the first place. Meddling was his thing.

“So, where to?” Stiles asked as his dad left the paperwork and took his jacket, ready to leave. “And don’t you dare think I’ll let you get anywhere near fries.”

*

It was only a month after Los Angeles Stiles realized that Derek had stopped calling him.

It happened all of a sudden and it took Stiles’ breath away for a moment as he drank his coffee at the usual table back at the café with Scott. Derek had tried to call him every day, several times a day since Stiles had left the hotel room in a hurry, and Stiles had been shutting down every single one of his calls ever since.

After a couple of weeks the calls had decreased to a couple per day, another week later Stiles only got one every couple of days until, eventually, they’d stopped.

He noticed just now, eating his Sunday pancakes while Scott was talking about this girl he had met a couple of days before – and, well, Stiles knew he had been the one shutting Derek out of his life deliberately, not even giving him the time or the chance to explain whatever Derek obviously thought needed to be explained, still.

Still Stiles missed his calls, each and every one of them, because at least Derek was showing him he cared enough to try and try harder whenever he failed. Now Derek didn’t care anymore and Stiles felt something like a big, black darkness all around his heart.

*

As the weeks went by Stiles managed to get Derek out of his head. A bit.

Every time he opened his Google homepage he looked at the laptop screen blankly, his fingers itching to type in those letters which would’ve led him to get news on Derek and _The Wolves_.

Once he casually listened to Greengberg talking over the phone about how their biggest tour ever had started already and the band was going all around the States – in a tour-bus apparently. Not that Stiles intended to eavesdrop or anything, Greengberg just had this loud voice and their desks were pretty close and so, yeah, Derek’s band was on tour.

That was maybe why the phone calls had stopped, altogether with Derek getting sick and tired of not having any reply.

Stiles thought Derek was too busy now to care about the stupid guy he fucked once. Three times. And Stiles really should’ve known better because, c’mon, Derek was the rock-star everybody wanted and nobody could have, the guy who had fangirls screaming for him and dreaming of him all over the world, a guy who just needed to snap his fingers to get whoever he wanted just when he wanted. And Stiles, well, Stiles had just been another one of his conquers, another notch on his bed head and he had known it from the very beginning. He had known Derek wanted nothing from him but mere, extremely satisfying sex, still Stiles had fallen for it and was now silently moaning about it. From time to time, because Stiles for sure didn’t spend all of his time thinking about Derek stupid Hale.

*

It happened on a Monday morning.

Stiles postponed his alarm clock so many times he obviously ended up oversleeping and when he finally got up it was already too late. He turned the coffee machine on and took a quick shower, getting dressed while heading to the kitchen, jumping as he tried to wear his pants on and looking for a pair of socks as if it could come up out of nowhere.

He poured himself a cup of hot coffee and drank a generous sip as he tried to clasp his belt, and of course Stiles burned his tongue because the coffee was still too hot. Of _fucking_ course.

He finally managed to get fully dressed, took his keys and phone and ran to the door, slamming it open in a hurry. He noticed then something on his _‘wHELLcome’_ doormat and took it quickly as he ran out and closed the door behind him.

It was a postcard, he noticed as he ran down the two ramps of stairs and got in his faithful old jeep, turning the engine on and driving into the usual morning traffic. When he stopped at a red light Stiles took the postcard from the passenger’s seat and gave it a brief look.

The picture on the front showed one of the many crowded streets of Las Vegas and the name of the city was written in red, capital letters all over it. Stiles turned it around in his hands and found a nice, linear handwriting filling up all the space on the back, while his address was written in a corner with a stamp above it.

The traffic light turned green again and Stiles put the postcard away, rushing to the Post.

Of course Jackson noticed he was late, and of _fucking_ course he gave him unpaid overtime to make it up to him. The asshole. Stiles left his office with a funeral expression on his face and headed to his desk, letting himself fall on the uncomfortable chair he was getting used to. He started to work at the layout for the next day’s print and didn’t think about the postcard until Scott gave him a call, four hours later, to meet up for lunch break. Stiles gladly left the office scowling at stupid Jackson and flipping even more stupid Greengberg off, then jumped in his jeep to reach the sushi bar Scott had suggested.

The postcard was still on the passenger’s seat and Stiles kept looking at it for all the ten minutes he drove to reach Scott. When he parked the jeep Stiles took the postcard back in his hands and turned it so he could read what was written on the back.

His heart skipped a beat when he spotted the name at the end, pounding in his chest as he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

 

_Stiles,_

_As you might’ve noticed I’m in Vegas right now. We’ve just played a show here and it’s almost three a.m. now and when I was going back to the hotel I just saw a souvenir shop with lots of postcards on the front and I thought of you._

_I’ve tried to call you every day, and every day you haven’t answered. I know probably you don’t wanna talk to me – I get the message – but I need to talk to you. I need to tell you that it was a mistake – not you, the text. You’re probably the best thing that ever happened to me._

_I’m running out of space. I think of you every day, and despite how badly you want to shut me out I’ll still be here._

 

Stiles read the words all over and over again and almost gave in to a panic attack. He tried to breathe deeply, in and out as his dad had taught him years and years before, and he had just managed to calm down when Scott knocked at his window, smiling at him and waving hello.

Stiles forced himself to smile back, then hid the postcard under his seat as he bent to take the keys and stepped out of the car, Scott patting him on the shoulders as he did so.

They went to the sushi bar and Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about Derek and the stupid postcard, his heart jumping in his chest from time to time as Derek’s beautiful eyes came up to his mind.

*

It was during a calm, relaxed weekend Stiles heard about Derek Hale again, the amazing star who was conquering the whole world with his rough voice and charming smiles.

Stiles was back at his dad’s house, the house where he was born and raised and which he loved so much, the walls filled up with pictures of him, his dad and his mom before the dementia took her away from the two of them. She had the most beautiful smile and the nicest eyes she’d luckily passed on to Stiles, that same hazelnut and caramel brown, so light, so special.

He loved spending the weekend back at that place from time to time, spending time with his dad and remembering what it was like to live home and having to watch over him – the Sheriff wasn’t great at watching over himself, Stiles had decided, and that was why he kept on checking on him every couple of days just to make sure he was alright, and that he wasn’t eating junk food that would’ve blown his heart.

It was a warm, lazy Sunday morning in Beacon Hills and Stiles woke up around nine, stumbling to the kitchen and yawning as if he hadn’t slept almost eleven hours that last night.

His dad was already awake and smiled at him when he spotted him on the door. Stiles smiled back and hugged him tight before getting some milk from the fridge and drinking from the plastic bottle. The Sheriff rolled his eyes as he slapped Stiles on the back of his neck, taking the milk off his hands and pouring it into a glass.

“There, you animal,” he said but couldn’t manage to hide a smile and Stiles grinned.

“I love you too, dad,” he said looking at the pan on the stove with curiosity. “Eggs?” he asked and his father nodded proudly.

“And bacon, and pancakes,” he said putting the fried eggs on a plate together with the rest. Once he’d filled two plates he brought everything on the table and shrugged when Stiles scowled at him angrily. “Hey, it’s Sunday even for me, you know? Besides, I haven’t had bacon in _ages_.”

Stiles sighed but dropped it with a shook of his head as he said, “Yeah, but just this time.”

The Sheriff seemed happy with that and they started consuming their breakfast, looking up at the small TV on the fridge from time to time.

“Hey,” his dad called out, still chewing on his eggs and pointing at the old screen. “Isn’t that the guy you interviewed for the Post? That singer guy or something, what was his name again?”

“Derek,” Stiles let out in a whisper, then he cleared his throat and said in a more normal voice, “Derek Hale. From _The Wolves_.”

Stiles kept on watching as the journalist tried to get a hold on Derek, the cameraman following him as best as he could. Derek was shaking them off and headed to a big, shiny tour bus where a beautiful brunette was waiting for him, keeping the door open and closing it shut as he got inside. The same brunette Stiles had seen in the picture, probably the same brunette who’d texted Derek that night.

The Sheriff looked at the TV and back at his son, an eyebrow raised as he tried to figure out Stiles’ blue expression.

*

Stiles found the second postcard on his doormat something like a week and a half after he had found the first. The front showed a dark landscape of the snowy mountains surrounding the city, a lighted road slithering in between like a golden snake; the city was nothing but an electric web of lights and other mountains encircled it from the back as plain, yellow-ish letters spelled out, “Salt Lake City,” on the top.

Stiles’ hands were shaking when he turned the postcard to look at its back only to find Derek’ handwriting waiting for him. He left the shopping bags on the floor, forgotten, and headed to the small sofa as in a trance. He sat down and looked at the picture again, his hands not even close to stop shaking.

 

_As soon as I saw this panorama tonight I thought of how great it’d been to share it with you. I stood on what seemed like the edge of the world, and I thought you might’ve liked the view._

_Our live show in SLC was great, Laura and the twins had so much fun. It would’ve been better if you’d been there. I think you would like the snow as well, I figure you’re the kind of guy who would go out and make an horrible snowman?_

_I’m not that kind of guy, but I think I could make an exception for you._

 

 

Stiles thought that Derek got it right, he was definitely the kind of guy who loved to play with the snow, building a snowman and making angels on the ground. He missed the snow so much, his winter holidays with his family, and Salt Lake City looked wonderful, all covered in white and lights.

Stiles didn’t realize he started crying.

*

The third postcard came on a Saturday afternoon. Stiles heard a soft noise coming from the letterbox and left the kitchen in a hurry, a pan still on the stove. He took the card in his hands and smiled as he saw the front: bright red background, mountains drawn on the bottom and a big, round, “Denver,” occupying all of the space. The letters were funny as in a comic and each one of them had a picture of some of Denver’s most famous attractions inside. A thin, black write on the very top of the postcard said, “Greeting you from,” and right after the big “Denver” there was _Colorado_ written on the bottom in yellow letters. Stiles thought Derek must’ve had a thing for yellow really, because all of the three postcards had some in them.

 

_I’m not a big fan of Colorado, the place isn’t really the best, but people are nice and kind. Or at least the very few we’ve met were._

_You would like it, I guess. It’s a noisy city, so different from our Beacon Hills. Though I think you would miss the woods and the preserve – I miss it. A lot. The tour is going just fine but I miss home. Sometimes I even suspect I miss you._

 

This one wasn’t signed, but Stiles could recognize Derek’s handwriting now.

Derek wrote he missed _him_ , still Stiles knew that girl was with him all the time, following him on tour – he’d seen pictures on Greengberg’s computer, it wasn’t his fault if the guy was showing some of their colleagues Derek’s new chick as if he knew her personally. Fanboy.

Stiles went back to the kitchen and opened a drawer, leaving the postcard in there – with the previous two. He closed it again and went back to stir the chicken in the pan, looking back at the drawer every now and then.

He knew what he and Derek had had wasn’t anything important, still he couldn’t stop feeling so low, he couldn’t fill that pit that had grown in his stomach when everything went the way it did.

Truth was, Stiles missed Derek even if he hadn’t had the time to get to know him well. Derek had let him see a tiny part of him that he held from the world outside and Stiles, well, he liked it. An awful lot. He knew Derek was better than he showed, he _felt it_ , but Derek was miles and miles away, writing Stiles stupid postcards while another girl was by his side. That wasn’t really nice of him.

Stiles wondered if the brunette knew about _him_ , but then again he’d never been spotted with Derek by paparazzi so the answer was most surely a big no.

*

Every day Stiles managed to get up, get dressed and go to work pretty much as he’d always done. The Post was a boring place where he had to spend most of his days, Jackson was an asshole as usual and Greengberg showed his worst fanboy self every day more.

Stiles’ articles weren’t that good lately – well, the subjects sucked in the first place, still he couldn’t write properly. He spent interminable hours in front of a blank Word page, thinking about what to write – or, better, _trying_ to think about something to write because it seemed like his mind had gone as blank as the empty page.

The postcards never stopped arriving at Stiles’ doormat – early in the morning usually, sometimes late in the afternoon; there were times Stiles came back after another rough day at the office and found them laying abandoned on the floor, sad and lonely.

He got a new one every week and a half or so.

After Denver he got one from Albuquerque, New Mexico – a city pic taken at night, cars and street lights shining as in contrast to the warm colours that made the picture looked a bit old, maybe vintage, but Stiles liked it the most only because Albuquerque always made him think about _The Simpsons_ ; one from San Antonio followed, same comic stile and big letters filled with the city’s bests, and seriously Derek? That was kinda lame.

Stiles loved the postcard from New Orleans – two images divided by a thin white line, both showing a little piece of that magical place. Stiles loved the guy painting on the left side of the card, his canvas covered in red as he started drawing some yellow lines on it (and again, _yellow_ ).

Stiles took the last one he had received – white framed picture of _Main Street at Night, Little Rock, Ark_ – and put it together with all the others in his bedside table drawer where he had moved them a week before so he didn’t have to get up to get them whenever he wanted to take another look at them. That night he dreamed about cities and noises and millions of people and, Stiles wanted to forget that part, something that looked terribly like Derek’s eyes.

*

“To your first year at Beacon Hills Post!” Scott shouted raising his beer and cheering to him.

“To my first year _surviving_ at Beacon Hills Post, you mean,” Stiles automatically corrected him as he drank up his beer in few generous sips. Scott patted him on the back as he tilted his head to the waitress to get another round and laughed out loud.

“Stiles, my friend,” he said, his eyes shining with alcohol already. “You’re a survivor, that’s what you do. You survive, no matter what happens. Now, let’s have another beer to celebrate.”

“Scott, we’ve been celebrating for the last _hour_ ,” Stiles whined in a moaning voice. He banged his head on the table – repeatedly on purpose – as he tried to ignore Scott’s laughter. Seriously, one year at the stupid Post was not something Stiles was keen to celebrate. He’d spent one good year of his life working for an asshole who couldn’t care less about journalism and that wasn’t a victory _at all_. He’d basically lost one year doing _nothing_ , since the articles Jackson made him write were not at all what Stiles had expected – or needed for his future career for what mattered. So yeah, yay for another of his big, bursting failures. He drank to that.

“You gotta drink more,” Scott said in a solemn voice and he nodded as to emphasise his words. “Tonight I’m gonna get you drunk.”

Stiles sighed and drank to that as well. And, of course, he let Scott get him drunk as he’d promised.

*

Derek woke up in another city that morning, the millionth maybe since he’d lost count.

The tour-bus was cool and had a small kitchen and everything, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable. His bed was nothing more than a camp bed he had to pull from the wall and okay, that was amazing the first couple of days – first couple of weeks even – but as the months had gone by he started getting more annoyed than anything.

Laura was still deep asleep in front of him, her eyes slightly open as usual. Derek had stopped finding it creepy as he grew up. He got up, moving carefully as the room was definitely too small for two to share and he didn’t want to wake Laura up, God only knew how grumpy she could get if he did.

Derek managed to get out somehow, and he didn’t wake Laura so that was a real victory. He passed in front of the twins’ room, door still closed as they were still both deep asleep – and headed to that cubicle they kept on calling the kitchen, but looked like a small cupboard under the stairs instead. Derek remembered his house, back in Beacon Hills, and that cupboard they had there was at least three times the size of that stupid bus kitchen. He sighed and activated the coffee machine, waiting for the hot drink to be ready.

Today they were… somewhere Derek didn’t remember at the moment but it wasn’t important, really. Everything that mattered were their live shows, playing in front of screaming crowds, and even though that was the part Derek loved the most he was just starting losing interest in it as well.

He was feeling terrible and it was getting worse every day more. He had stopped joining Laura and the guys to drink something after every show, he just didn’t feel like it. So they went, every night, and Derek sat on the stupid couch with a stupid beer in his hands and stupid thoughts streaming in his mind.

Derek was missing home. He was missing the simple life he used to have in Beacon Hills, every night _The Wolves_ had played at _The Jungle_ when nobody knew them except for their friends and people from school. That, Derek thought as he poured few drops of milk in his black coffee, had been the best time of his life. They were playing because they loved it, not to get money out of it and yeah, getting contracted by one of the most famous agencies in the Country was awesome, but Derek felt they were missing out on something. They were forgetting what it had been like to play just for fun, out of their huge love for music, and were letting the management make every call.

Peter was as happier as Derek had ever seen him, dealing with each club or theatre or arena _The Wolves_ were going to play at, managing their money rather than them.

Derek had known from the start Peter was this vicious, greedy kind of man, still he hadn’t thought his own uncle would’ve treated he and Laura like that – like they were nothing but the money they were making, like they weren’t family _at all_ and it hurt more than Derek was willing to admit.

Peter had been the one taking care of Derek and Laura after the fire, after all of their family got burnt alive because of this psycho girl with mental issues. Derek remembered meeting her once as she was sitting in their living room, pretending she was a seller of some sorts. Derek remembered saying hello and the look she’d given him before he’d turned his back on her and rushed upstairs. She looked maniac, that Argent girl, and no one ever found out if there was a – sick, twisted – motive behind her actions.

Her family had to bear the guilt and the hate from everyone in town, and Derek himself had hated them for a long, long time before he’d realized he couldn’t put the blame on them. Kate Argent was responsible, not her family. The Argents made a generous donation to Derek and Laura and Peter took the money only to take care of them in the future.

Derek remembered how _lost_ Peter had been after the fire took his wife away from him altogether with their unborn first child, and when he looked at his uncle today he couldn’t believe that was the same caring person that raised Derek and Laura and loved them unconditionally, them being the only family he got left.

Today, Peter was an asshole and Derek didn’t know what happened to him to make him change like this over the years. Loss, of course; grief and remorse and a pain so big it felt like it was killing him – Derek knew it well. But if pain had made Derek and Laura grow closer and stronger somehow, it had destroyed everything good that Peter had ever had in him.

Derek sighed as he sipped his coffee, shaking his head as if that could just shove his thoughts away.

He took his mobile from the coffee table and looked at it for a while, scrolling down the numbers and texts until he found what he was looking for. Stiles’ number was still there after all those months, just because Derek kept on dialling it from time to time only to shut the call before Stiles’ phone could even think of ringing. He did it again – dialled the number he knew by heart, pushed the green button, looked at the screen lightening, shut the call down less than a second later.

All of those months and cities and live shows hadn’t been able to wipe Stiles’ memory away, and Derek could admit it at least to himself now – he missed him. He missed Stiles’ smile, and his body, and all of his stupid moles; he missed Stiles’ eyes and the look he was wearing that night in Los Angeles when they’d slept together. He missed holding Stiles when he was asleep, the comforting warmth of his body pressed against his own.

Derek wondered if Stiles ever thought about it or if he’d just forgotten him.

When his phone rang to a new text Derek shook himself out of those thoughts and opened the inbox. The name on the display was Peter’s and Derek felt a surge of anger before he even read whatever it was that his uncle wanted to tell him.

_Meet u in NYC in two days. Jennifer will be there. You have a reservation at the Ritz for Saturday night. You know what to do._

Derek put the phone down without even texting Peter back. Yeah, he knew what _he was supposed to do_ , the fact that he was hating every second of that hell didn’t make it any easier. He left the coffee and went back to the small bedroom to rummage in his bag; when he found what he was looking for Derek went back to the kitchen and sat down again, a pen in his hands.

He stared at the new postcards for a few seconds, the Pittsburgh skyline in a red and pink sunset staring back at him as if to dare him writing stupid clichés. To be a rock singer and song writer, he wasn’t doing great at finding the right words to write down now. Derek took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and he thought about Stiles once again.

 

_I spared you a comic-style postcard this time, figured you’d appreciate. Pittsburgh is… I have no idea what Pittsburgh is, and I don’t want to find out. The only way I would stand somewhere to enjoy the view and the sunset would be for you to be here. But you’re not._

_I don’t know if you keep all of my postcards, if you even read them – if you do, just know I’m not gonna stop. I’m not gonna stop hoping for you to change your mind and give me one chance._

_I won’t let you go without even fighting. And I’m ready to fight if that means having the slightest chance to get you back._

_Hopelessly yours._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If I hadn’t met him I wouldn’t probably be here today, changing my life and everything. He gave me the strength to face a blank piece of paper, the courage to write what I really wanted to and not what I had to; he taught me that nothing is impossible, that you can fight for what’s important to you and, most importantly, you can win._
> 
> _So, thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me, thank you for keeping on fighting; thank you for completing me the way you do. Thank you for everything._

Few words before we start: I'm really, truly sorry about the inconvenience. I was really convinced I selected two chapters when I posted the first part. Apparently I didn't, so no wonder you guys were a bit confused about the fanfiction ending there. 

I will never apologize enough, seriously. But I have another fluffy Sterek for you coming soon, so maybe you can find it in your heart to forgive me a little bit?

 

 

 

 

 

Stiles’ drawer was bursting with postcards now.

The night view from Nashville ( _Look at the lights on the bridge…  I bet you would love to cross it, and I would drive you all the way to the other side and you would laugh so much because that bridge is horrible, and then I would take you out for dinner and you would engage a battle with food, just because you could_ ); the bad jumble of attractions from Washington D.C. ( _I would take you to Lincoln Memorial… I bet you’d love it, and I bet you would start talking to the President himself, annoying him to death_ ) altogether with all of the other postcards Derek had sent him in the past few months.

When Stiles found the latest on his doormat he picked it up thinking of how well Derek seemed to know him, of how easily he could pick up Stiles’ tastes, of how he could just guess everything just right.

And Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about Derek as well, wondering what was it like to go around the States in a bus, waking up in a different place almost every day; he wondered if Derek was really as wretched as his words sounded, if there was really nothing to cheer him up during all the bad days. Stiles thought that Derek shouldn’t have been allowed to be sad and should’ve smiled more, because he looked nice when he was smiling, and Stiles loved his smile.

His girlfriend probably loved it too.

*

“You could at least pretend you’re having fun,” Jennifer smiled looking at her menu and raising her eyes on Derek. “Honey, we-“

“Don’t call me that,” he abruptly interrupted her shutting his menu with a _click_ and tossing it on the table. “I don’t know how much Peter is paying you, but I’ll double that if you’d only stop.”

Jennifer elegantly pushed her menu aside and leant on the table towards Derek, gently brushing his hands with her own; she smiled softly but her smiled cracked a bit when he pulled away.

“Baby, you don’t have the money,” she said with a crystalline laugh. “Besides, I’m not the first girl to do it. Nor even the only one, for what matters. I understand Peter’s concern for you and I think he’s doing the best he can to-“

“Don’t give me this bullshit.” Derek crossed his arms at his chest and glared at her, and fuck off the crowded restaurant. “You want the money, I get it. But this has gone too far.”

Jennifer, the beautiful brunette every magazine had been talking about in the last months, smiled again and Derek had to give her that, she was a hell of an actress. She was soft to him, whispering to his ears and smiling and laughing even when he’d stayed silent.

She was, in fact, the perfect girlfriend, the one that paparazzi adored, the girl every other girl envied, the woman every woman wanted to be – nice, charming, caring. It didn’t matter that it was just an act, or at least it didn’t matter to her and to Peter.

The public loved Derek so much and they loved Jennifer even more, talking about their relationship as the most perfect one.

Derek couldn’t stand it anymore. Jennifer had been an easy way for him to bail out of the troubles that his being gay was gonna cause him, she had been the quick answer to a pressing problem and yeah, maybe that had worked for a couple of weeks and it seemed to be still working for everybody else, but Derek was fed up with that shit.

At the beginning, when _The Wolves_ had signed their first contract, it had seemed important for him to be whatever the label wanted him to be. They wanted him as a sex-symbol and Derek gave them one, they wanted him to be every teenager’s idol and he obliged, dressing up all rough and sexy for every girl out there. It had seemed important to give the public what they wanted so the band would keep on living the dream – a small sacrifice for the greater good. Nobody seemed to care about the drummer being gay, but the frontman was a different matter.

“You’re not ready to jump out of the closet, Der.”

“Don’t,” Derek growled, his eyes gazing with fury. “Don’t call me that. I don’t give a fuck about you, or Peter, or anybody else. I won’t let you manipulate me and my life one second more, I’m done with this and I’m done with you.”

Jennifer’s eyes darted at him as her expression darkened.

“The press will eat you alive,” she said in a low voice as her eyes watered instantly and she started sobbing lightly. “It’s that guy, isn’t it? Peter told me about him. I’m gonna tell you a secret, Derek,” she whispered as she leant on the table again, her lips trembling and she looked hurt. “Love is nothing but a fairy-tale. Happy endings don’t happen in real life. And one day, after you’d sacrificed everything you have for the idea of love itself, one day you’ll regret this moment because this is where it starts. This is where the noise becomes too loud and it’ll kill you.”

When she stood up she was crying, silent tears running down her cheeks and for a moment she looked so fragile Derek almost believed it.

“You know where to find me, in case you change your mind,” she whispered in a sob and she turned her back on him, running away from the restaurant. Derek didn’t move for a couple of minutes, immune to every look he was getting, and when he walked to pay the check he felt lighter; he stopped a yellow cab on his way out and gave the taxi driver the address of the hotel they were staying at that night. He leant back on his seat and watched New York passing by before his eyes, all bright lights and crowded street.

Derek used to love that city so much with all its theatres and different people, with the parks and shops and restaurants; he loved the museums and the bookshops and all the small shops where he’d found some of the best CDs ever. He loved it – but now even New York looked grey-ish and dull to his eyes.

When the taxi finally reached the hotel Derek left the driver enough money to cover for the ride and a generous tip and ran inside, getting at the reception the key to his room and waiting for the elevator to go up. Once in the room Derek let himself fall on the big, comfy bed and sighed loudly.

So that was it, the end of his fake relationship with Jennifer. It had been easier than he’d expected and he felt _free_ for the first time in months. He had the chance to take his life back, and he knew exactly where he had to start.

An insistent knocking on the door distracted him and Derek growled, face buried in the pillow, hoping that whoever it was could get the message and leave him alone. Apparently he was wrong and the knocking kept on, persistent and louder until a familiar voice shouted, “ _Open up, you asshole! I know you’re in there_!”

He sighed again and abandoned the comfort of his bed and pillow to get the door that his sister was gonna knock down.

“What?” he asked as he opened and found her standing there, a resolute expression on her face. Laura didn’t wait for him to step aside and slipped in instead; she sat on the bed and stared at him as Derek closed the door and walked back in the room.

“So?” she asked and Derek shrugged, opening the small fridge and taking a couple of vodkas. He offered one to Laura who accepted it silently. She raised an eyebrow as to force him to talk, she always did that when she wanted to crack him – and Derek, of course, cracked.

“So I basically told Jennifer to fuck off,” he explained as he sat on the chair in front of the bed and looked at his sister curiously. “The question is, how do you know?”

Laura scowled at him and sipped her vodka. “I’m your sister,” she said as if that was an obvious enough reason to know everything about him. “Also, Peter called me like five minutes ago.”

“He called you?” Derek asked in an incredulous voice.

“Yeah, to, and I quote, _put some sense in that fucking brain of yours_.”

“As if you could,” Derek smiled and Laura smiled back, relaxing visibly as the tension in the room vanished. “Look, Laura, I –“

“You’ve been a douche for waiting so long, if you ask me,” she interrupted him with a grin. “Der, you looked beyond miserable, do you really think me and the guys wanted that for you? Do you really think we care that much about what stupid magazines are gonna say about us?”

“This could cost us everything,” Derek replied in a low voice, his eyes shifting away from her. “You know I’m right.”

Laura sighed. She stood up, leaving the vodka on the desk, and sat on her brother’s lap the way she used to do when they were younger. She was the eldest, but Derek had always been there for her whenever she’d needed a shoulder to cry on, a friend to confide in; she’s always sat on his lap and he had always caressed her hair smoothly to calm her down, and it’d always worked.

Now Laura thought it was time to return the favour.

She raised her hand to Derek’s head and slowly ran her fingers through his dark hair, over and over again as he passed an arm around her waist and buried his face in the crotch of her neck, breathing heavily against her soft skin.

“It’s okay, Der-bear,” she said in a soft voice, pushing her lips to his head in a gentle kiss. “It’s gonna be okay. You don’t need to be someone you’re not, we don’t want you to do it. Screw the rest, screw the press and every stupid asshole out there, you’re not gonna sacrifice yourself to them, you’ve done enough.”

Derek tried to hold on the tears but the lump in his throat was too thick to ignore, and he gave in. He hugged Laura tighter as he started  to cry shamelessly in the dim light of that room, and every tear felt like freedom, like he was finally getting out all the things he’d been too scared to say before. But Laura was with him, touching him gently and whispering to his ears, and when she told him everything was gonna be fine he tried to believe her. He wanted to believe her.

*

Stiles found another postcard on his doorstep that Monday morning, just before he rushed off to work. This time it was a picture of Times Square at night, streetlights and theatres lighting the way as people walked down the road looking busy and happy. Stiles loved it immediately and tried to ignore that grip of his heart as he read the words on the back.

_I’ve always loved NYC but tonight it looks different – dull maybe, or maybe it’s just me but it doesn’t feel right._

_As I walk through Times Square I can’t help but think of you. You would love it, and I would take you to the Rockefeller Centre to ice-skate, and to the Chrysler Building to enjoy the view from there – it’s amazing and you can actually see all the city from that place. We would have picnics at Central Park and I would take you to the Carousel – you’d love it, and you’d probably force me to go for a round and I would scowl but give in eventually because I could never be able to deny you anything._

_I miss you, now I know for sure. I miss your lips and your smiles and your scent. I miss your eyes. I miss everything I felt when I was with you._

_Forever yours._

Stiles barely managed not to cry.

*

By the time the tour-bus got _The Wolves_ to Portland, Peter was already there waiting for them.

Derek didn’t have the time to get off the bus and his uncle jumped on board instead, face red and eyes furious. The twins left the bags they’d just picked up and crossed their arms to their chests, standing still in the small space that was the kitchen and waiting for Peter to say _anything_ that could give them one good reason to punch him in his stupid face.

Derek tilted his head at Laura and she nodded briefly, taking the twins out of the bus despite of their oppositions. She whispered something to their ears and they eventually gave in, following her outside and scowling at Peter as they passed him.

Peter didn’t even wait for the bus door to be closed to start yelling.

“Do you have any idea of what this little rebellion of yours is gonna do to the band?” he asked, his voice louder at every word. “What are you, insane?! This is your first important tour and it’s not over yet, and if you’re really thinking of blowing it up like this I swear I –“

“You what, Peter?” Derek asked in a low voice and he stepped closer to his uncle, eyes darting and lips stretched as he breather heavily. “I’m done with this shit. I told Jennifer and I’m telling you. No more lies. No more beard girls. Take it or leave it.”

Peter gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, not daring looking away. “You don’t want any beard girl?” he hissed. “ _Fine_. But you’re not gonna go out in public with boys either, with _any_ boy. The public still thinks you’re the hottest het guy who ever walked the earth and you’re not gonna ruin it, so suck as many dicks as you can take but don’t you ever think of outing yourself. You have a contract, for fuck’s sake!”

The contract, yes. Derek had thought about it for days now, he’d thought of how to break it or at least bypass it. He had talked to Laura, to Ethan and Aiden, but they couldn’t come up with anything, that shit was as solid as a rock and if he’d only break it there’d be consequences for all of them. They would lose everything – the tour, the recording of their next album, and Derek couldn’t let it happen.

The others had told him they didn’t give a shit about their engagement to the label, they had told him there were plenty of labels ready to take them in out there, but Derek knew that deep down they cared at least a bit. The _Davis Records_ was one of the biggest, most powerful labels around and antagonize them wasn’t exactly a smart move.

“You keep it quiet,” Peter said pointing a finger at him. “No dates at all, at least girls all over the world would think you’re still available. Don’t spoil it, Der.”

Derek didn’t even bother to nod and Peter angrily left the bus slamming the door shut behind him.

*

Stiles took off the glasses he used when writing and massaged his temples in round movements, adding just the right pressure as his headache tried to kill him slowly. He stared at the screen of his laptop, at the few words he had managed to write and thought it was actual shit so he deleted everything and the page became blank again.

He couldn’t write. He had what people called a _writer’s block_ and hated every second of it.

It had been going on for months now; every time Stiles sat down to his chair and tried to write the article Jackson wanted he just couldn’t do it. He’d stared at a lot of blank pages and had managed to write articles so bad he’d been ashamed of it; not that Jackson cared much since he treated the Post as shitty stuff he had to do so his father would keep on giving him money – money Jackson didn’t deserve at all, Stiles thought, but that was life, wasn’t it?

Stiles sipped his beer and looked around at the small kitchen. The place was a mess; plates were piling up in the sink and fast-food wraps laid everywhere, abandoned and nasty. The old dishwasher was silently looking at him and Stiles shook his head, he wasn’t gonna fill it up now. Not that he’d filled it up in the past few days, but still.

He wanted to write something, something good to save for his future application to the biggest newspapers, yet he couldn’t.

Stiles sighed and stood up. He reached the cupboard under the sink and took a pack of cigarettes; he stared at the one he’d  picked for a few seconds, then he decided to go for it and lit it with a matchstick. He wasn’t really a smoker, but he allowed himself a cigarette in time of needs – times like this.

He went back to the kitchen table and sat again in front of his laptop, ignoring the blank page and clicking on the Google icon instead, watching the familiar home page load before his eyes. He typed the words “ _writer’s block_ ” and waited for the results. The first link was from Wikipedia and Stiles just skipped it, he didn’t really need an historical dissertation on the term; he skipped the images as well and clicked on the third link instead. He got redirected to a website with an article about writer’s block and after a few lines of explanation the article focused on few tips to overcome the problem. A couple of them were actually good – _take time off, work on more than one project at a time, try writing exercises_.

Stiles clicked on an hyperlink and found himself reading about writing exercises. There was one that immediately caught his eye and even if it wasn’t the article he was meant to write, well, he needed some time to get out of that stupid block. Also, the “ _I have a secret_ ” project looked like fun and it didn’t matter that Stiles was alone and had no one to do the  exercise with, he would pick a secret of his own.

So he opened the blank page again and started typing the words in italics. _I have a secret,_ he wrote down and added, almost without noticing, _and it’s called Derek Hale_.

*

Derek jumped on the stage and Milwaukee roared to him, hands raised in the air, voices filling up the room as the few thousands of people in front of him screamed his name.

The live show was bringing to an end and Derek felt the rush of adrenaline in his body slowly wearing out. Laura smiled at him as she left her Fender aside and embraced the acoustic Gibson instead, gently touching the chords and adjusting them right. Aiden smiled at him and walked to his mic, nodding and giving him the thumbs up. Ethan raised his sticks to Derek and Derek smiled, shaking his head as to imply his band-mates were all crazy. But he loved their craziness more than anything.

He walked to his microphone and clenched his hands around it, clearing his throat before pulling his lips closer to it.

“This is a new song,” he said in a low, husky voice and the crowed thundered. “It’s called _The place I belong_.”

Derek and Laura exchanged a look and she started caressing the guitar’s chords gently, the notes coming out slow and soft.

He wrote the song a couple of days before, just after the nth postcard he sent to Stiles’ address. He thought of Stiles’ eyes and boom!, there was the song, music and lyrics clear in his head. He wrote it down and hummed it to Laura and the others, and Laura took her guitar and transformed his humming into real notes and the softest melody Derek had ever heard. Aiden added his bass, keeping it low and harmonizing Laura’s symphony, and Ethan contributed with a cadenced drums and there it was, _the song_. _His_ song, all the words Derek desperately wanted to tell Stiles, all the emotions he was unable to speak out and music helped him once again.

Derek closed his eyes as he started singing, seeing nothing but Stiles’ caramel eyes before his closed eyelids.

_Like a beast I've wandered in the woods of life_

_Wound and hurt._

_The fire burnt me alive and fear held me back_

_before I found your scent._

_A red hood alone in the darkness_

_you reached your hand to me and you were not_

_scared of my bite._

 

Stiles hadn’t been scared of him, he’d never let Derek’s image strike him and had been ready to tell him to fuck off instead. That night in Los Angeles Stiles had shown Derek that there was so much more than just sex and had given it to him; he’d given Derek a hot shiver down his body and a warmth he’d never had before, Stiles had shown him the closest thing to love Derek had never experienced and he missed it.

_And just like the wolves I have found my way_

_through the woods and the leaves as the moon_

_shines full and the stars hide._

_Like a wolf I followed a scent_

_and it took me home where i belong._

He missed everything he and Stiles never had, every talk, every smile; Derek missed sleeping right next to him and waking up together, Stiles being the first thing Derek would see in the morning. He missed the cups of coffee they had never shared, the breakfasts they’d never had, the nights they had never spent talking and laughing and loving the feeling of being together.

All those things were like a black pit in Derek’s guts, hurting him and leaving him bleeding. Since the first time Derek had laid eyes on Stiles it had just felt right and Derek had wanted him badly. Stiles had given himself to Derek, leading him somewhere Derek had never been before, and when Stiles had left Derek had found himself in a pain so deep it was almost impossible to deal with.

He wanted him back, no matter what it would cost him.

 

*

 

_I have a secret and it’s called Derek Hale._

_We met months ago when I had to interview him for the ~~Beacon Hills Post~~ newspaper I work at. When I went to his place and saw him, I thought he was an asshole; during the whole interview he did nothing to prove me wrong, and when I left I felt relieved. Derek Hale was pretentious and obnoxious, but he had the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. _

_I wrote my article and carried on with my life until it happened again: I had to write about the band’s show in ~~Beacon Hills~~ a small town even God forgot about, and interview the members just after that. Again, Derek Hale was someone I couldn’t stand, so rough and haughty, but I was attracted to him. So that night I let him follow me to the bathroom, and the rest is pretty much obvious. _

_Then he left town and I didn’t hear from him, nor I met him for a couple of weeks until I found the ticket to their show that he had sent me. I didn’t want to go – meeting the asshole again was not gonna help me feel better about me and my life and him – but I did. I drove all the way to Los Angeles and met him again. Only that time he was different._

_He wasn’t pretentious. He wasn’t obnoxious._

_He was Derek, just a guy like any other, and his eyes were so beautiful I felt like I was drowning in them. And he was kind, so different from the rock star the world thinks he is._

_I have a secret. I think I fell in love with him that night, right when before the show started he asked me not to look away from him. I didn’t._

_When things got complicated I left him, and I haven’t seen him since._

_I have a secret. I miss him. I miss him so much it hurts. I miss his hands and his voice and his eyes, my God his eyes, I miss his eyes the most._

_I have a secret, another. Derek tried to call me and when I thought he’d stopped, he started sending me postcards instead; a postcard from each city he’s playing in, a postcard and his thoughts and it’s crazy but I think they all smell like him. It’s crazy because I miss his smell. It’s crazy because every time I get a new postcard I feel like I want to cry._

_It’s crazy because I know he’s not mine. He belongs to someone else and it will never be me._

_I have a secret. I want Derek like I’ve never wanted anyone else in my life, I need him like oxygen and it doesn’t matter we spent only few time together, even one single second could be enough to fall in love. And I did. I fell in love with that stupid_ sourwolf _, because that’s what he is, a sourwolf, all barking and growling but never biting. He plays it cool, he shows the world of much of a badass he is, tough guy and all – only that he’s not. I’ve seen Derek when no one else was looking, when the spotlights weren’t aiming at him and if possible I fell in love even more. He has something in his eyes, something dark and deep and so huge it’s impossible to describe, and he tries to hide it so no one will see, no one will notice how broken he really is._

_I have a secret, and I don’t mean me and Derek Hale having sex._

_I have a secret, but it’s not mine. I’m carrying it for a guy who’s been bearing its weight for far too long and that’s not fair, so I took half of it. I don’t know if he feels relieved, or at least a bit lighter, but I can only hope so. That secret is heavy to carry and I don’t want that guy to carry it alone because he doesn’t deserve it, because when he does he frowns and scowls at the world but he really deserves to smile more, so I will help him as long as I can. Also, I’m totally head-over-hills for his smile and believe me when I say that only one of his smiles would light up the world._

_I have a secret, I have more than ten postcards hidden in my bedside table drawer and no one knows about it. I have a secret, I re-read each and every one of them every night before I go to sleep and it’s stupid but it feels like he’s there with me, or I’m by his side._

_I have a secret and it’s the most beautiful secret I’ve ever kept, but also the most painful, the heavier, and I think it’s killing me inside a bit more every day._

_I’m secretly in love with a guy I don’t deserve and I can’t certainly have, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop loving him. I’ll still be here in twenty year time and think about the man whom my heart beats for and I will love him even then, even after a lifetime spent trying to live a life without him by my side._

_I’m in love with a wolf who could tear me apart – but he won’t, not intentionally, even if sometimes I wish he would so to relieve me from the chaos I’m being devoured by._

 

*

 

“Dude, what’s this?”

Stiles came back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer in his hands despite it was still early in the afternoon and looked at Scott blankly for a few seconds. Then he noticed the postcard in his hands and the panic kicked in.

Stiles left the bottles on the coffee table and rushed to Scott, taking the postcard from him as he was turning it in his hands. “It’s nothing,” he said in a creaky voice, looking at a picture of Chicago staring back at him. “Just a postcard.”

“From whom?” Scott asked stepping closer and trying to read what was written on the back. Stiles folded it in two and put it in his jeans pocket, just to be sure his best friend would keep his hands away from it. He shrugged as to say it was nothing special – or important – and sat down on the sofa with the cold beer in his hands.

“Stiles,” Scott said sitting on a chair right in front of him with a glare on his face. “Best friend, remember?”

Stiles sighed. “I know. It’s nothing, really, just – just leave it, okay? It’s nothing.”

Scott looked at him for what seemed like an awful amount of time, then his eyes opened wide as he had an insight and pointed at Stiles’ pocket where the postcard was.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” he asked, and before Stiles could even ask who Scott thought it  was he added, “Derek Hale. It’s him. He’s the one who sent you a postcard!”

“More like ten,” Stiles muttered and he sighed again, putting his head in his hands with a frustrated growl. Scott wasn’t usually that intuitive, but there was always a first time. “Okay, so it’s Derek. Can you leave it now?”

Obviously Scott begged to differ. “Dude, after all this time?” he asked in a shocked voice. “I mean, it’s been _months_ now and you haven’t seen him since. Or have you?”

“I haven’t,” Stiles reassured him. “He’s just sending me postcards from the tour. Look, it’s not a big deal, okay? Can we just –“

“Okay.” Scott gave him a sympathetic look and took the spare beer on the table. “I’m just saying, he tried to call you for so long, maybe he had something to tell you.”

Stiles scowled at him and kept silent. It wasn’t the first time they were having that conversation – it had happened before. When Stiles had talked to Scott right after LA his best friend had said the same things ( _He probably wants to explain, Stiles, you should let him_ ); few weeks later Scott had asked him about Derek, if Stiles had picked any of his calls, and when Stiles had told him no Scott had shaken his head sadly ( _If you’ll never try you’ll never know, maybe it was important_ ) and Stiles, well, he had told Scott the same thing all over and over again. Derek had a girlfriend, he’d probably cheated on her when they’d been together and no, Stiles didn’t want that to happen again. It had been a mistake from the beginning, a terrible mistake, and guilt was already too heavy to carry like that.

When Scott changed the subject and started talking about the last lacrosse match he’d watched Stiles sighing in relief, but their night of pizza and videogames tasted bitter to his tongue.

*

That Saturday night Stiles was sitting on his sofa, papers spread all around him. He sipped his energy drink and stared at each paper critically, trying to pick up a couple of articles from that chaotic stack; an application form laid on a side of the coffee table, plain and untouched.

That was it, the moment that was gonna change his life. He only had few more months left at the Post and after that… after that Stiles was finally gonna find his way somewhere else, somewhere far from Beacon Hills and stupid Jackson Whittemore and the stupid articles he made Stiles write.

He still had months but he wanted to set everything ready, choosing the articles he was gonna attach to his application for the most famous newspapers in the Country. Stiles knew he was aiming maybe a bit too high, he knew that the failure would’ve been harder to deal with in that case, but he needed it. He needed to know he was at least gonna try for the best before settling down for something that was only acceptable.

He kept on looking at his pieces as if they could suggest him what to do. Truth was, everything he’d ever written was nothing but incoherent, disjointed articles about different topics and themes. Each and every one of them was unique, well written yes, but nothing more than that. He had sport pieces (mainly lacrosse-related, since he was a big fan and had played himself when he was in high school), culinary pieces (Stiles loved food, okay? It was _obvious_ he wanted to write about it), articles about young people and life nowadays, more serious ones about politics (which he liked but not enough to keep on writing about it all the time) or news story (which involved crime, news reports, gossip columns), plus all the shitty idiotic adverts Jackson had ordered him.

So, yeah, Stiles definitely had a passion for writing, but he hadn’t found his One True Topic yet – which was bad, so bad Stiles felt miserable every time he thought about it.

Then, he saw the _“I have a secret”_ piece on top of the pile – one of his most recent and well written actually, and maybe it wasn’t serious reports but it was good enough to use.

He picked it, fingers caressing the paper and expression softening as he read it again for the nth time, all of his feelings emerging to draw Stiles back in that confused, chaotic vortex he so desperately wanted to get out of.  

_I have a secret. I think I fell in love with him that night, right when before the show started he asked me not to look away from him. I didn’t._

And once again Stiles felt the urge to go through Derek’s postcards one more time, as if the words Derek had written to him could help him somehow. They couldn’t, of course, but it felt nice bathing in the illusion – so he got up, reached the small bedroom and took the pile, carrying it back to the sofa.

After the postcard from Milwaukee  he had received more, the latest just a couple of days before. He looked at the Chicago skyline right before sunset and smiled, admiring the blue sky and the pink and grey clouds slowly moving above the buildings and city lights ( _I would take you to the Observatory and stare at you staring at Chicago by night. I would love to watch you more than this stupidly beautiful city_ ); then there was the old picture of Des Moines at night and Stiles just loved the way the buildings looked, nice and old, keepers of secrets and stories ( _The Iowa Hall of Pride is ridiculous and you’d laugh so much; I don’t think you’d like the zoo, though is big and huge and really well-kept. I bet you’re one for the animals, just like me. You’re too kind to accept animals living in cages and I bet you’d free them instead. If only I was strong enough to break the bars…_ ).

The picture of Sioux Falls taken in ninety-fifty-eight was one of Stiles’ favourite, with those nice old cars and the absurdly adorable way the city looked just before the Sixties ( _The Falls Park is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, one day I will take you there – right after taking you to the Michelangelo’s David replica – you would laugh your ass off. One day I will take you to see the real deal in Florence, and I know you’ll be so amazed by it and the city you won’t laugh anymore_ ).

The postcard from Helena had made Stiles laugh like _a lot_ as he stared at what the city must’ve looked like in the Far West, with horses training caravans and people dressed like cowboys ( _You see that? That was the old tavern, everybody went there to drink – not that it’s much different now, only much more pubs and clubs and places to drink. I think I would’ve made a hell of a bandit back at that time, and I’d stopped by the tavern to drink whiskey – and you would’ve served it to me, because you’d been a hell of a bartender. Or piano guy, do you play piano?_ ) while the Seattle one had made him sigh a bit, as the city looked wonderful in that strawberry-gold light at dawn ( _I would force you to go and watch something at the Seattle Symphony, and you would complain a lot but you’d end up loving it eventually. And did you see the Public Library? Man that place is huge, just think of all the books we’d find there…!_ ).

The latest was from Salem, a picture of a cemetery with the shadow of a witch and her cat on the left side, black and funny against the creepy background; on top, in yellow – _again_ – was written “ _Witch you were here!”_ and down the usual greetings, and Stiles had laughed for a few seconds when he’d read it before the feelings had kicked in and _ouch_.

_I bet you would’ve been a witch back at the time, and maybe you would’ve poisoned me with a love filter that would’ve lasted through the centuries because I’m hopelessly yours and there’s no changing that_.

Stiles didn’t get it. He didn’t get why Derek kept on sending him postcards, he didn’t get why Derek hadn’t stop already and focused on his girlfriend instead. Maybe he was one of those guy who liked to play with people and keep relations with two (or more, Stiles didn’t even know that) opposite parties – only, it didn’t seem likely. Derek was a bit of an asshole at first impression, but he wasn’t like that _at all_. Not that Stiles knew that for sure, but he had a good feeling about it – also, Stiles was amazing at understanding people and even if he got mistaken once, he saw what Derek really was like.

Deep, lonely, caring. Scared.

Few months after Los Angeles Stiles had made his researches and found out about the fire. That was a big deal, and the chick who’d burnt Derek’s family alive was now rotting in jail, but that explained a lot about the guy. He had lost so much and Stiles could understand his pain – not completely, but he had lost his mother when he was young so yeah, he kind of knew what it felt like. And Derek, God, Derek was described by the media as a sex-symbol, nothing more than a juicy piece of meat, but he was so much more than that and Stiles had seen it in his eyes, the fear Derek was drowning into, the pain so deep and dark it could easily overcome him.

Derek was something Stiles would never understand completely though. The phone calls and the postcards and all the time Stiles’ heart had jumped in his chest at the mere thought of Derek’s eyes. It was driving him mad, that was it, and Stiles knew he just had to let go, to wipe Derek away from his life – but he couldn’t. Because even if he didn’t know what Derek was up to, or the real meaning of his words, well, Stiles knew he’d feel lost without it. Derek had become something steady in Stiles’ life, and it was the craziest thing ever, but it was true.

Stiles shook his head and put the postcards away on the couch, going back to his articles. He sipped his beer and he thought of writing something, but the only thing he could think about now was Derek stupid Hale and, well, that wasn’t exactly article-material – not completely.

So Stiles got his laptop and opened another blank page, thinking about what kind of piece would help him get into a real newspaper. He knew politics and records were the way, but he didn’t feel like it. He felt like telling a story instead only to clear his head and distract himself from those green eyes he’d fallen for.

Derek’s latest postcard looked at him alluring as Stiles remembered another one of those writing exercises. Take a picture and start writing a story about it, yeah, that was easy. It was easy to look at Helena and think about the old world, about the way those cowboy pants would’ve looked on Derek; it was easy to imagine the tavern, the wooden table and chairs, the smell of whiskey and alcohol and cigars everywhere. Easy to imagine the piano-man playing some funny melody as one of the whores sang out of tune, one of her most powerful clients staring at her with a grin on his dog-face.

It was easy to imagine the creak of the wood as the door slammed open, the dark figure standing there with sun behind him so his face was in the dark. Stiles found it extremely easy to imagine how Derek would’ve walked inside and headed for the slick counter, fixing his eyes into the barman.

So Stiles started to write.

*

“I talked to Scott the other day,” Laura casually alleged as Derek walked in the kitchen of the bus to have a drink with the rest of them. Aiden smiled as he saw him and Ethan patted the empty seat on the so-called sofa next to him in a silent invitation.

“You what?”

“Yeah, you know, just to see how he was doing and stuff,” Laura replied raising her eyes from the magazine she was reading.

“What _stuff_?” Derek asked, all darting eyes and gritting teeth. He and Laura had that conversation already and Derek had told her to stay out of this, of this postcards thing, of this beard girlfriend thing – and most importantly, he’d told her not to try to reach Stiles in any way. He had  almost begged her, he knew her well after all, and Laura had promised.

“Nothing bad, Der-bear,” she told him with a smile, the smile she had when she was up to something, and Derek sighed, waiting for her to drop the bomb. “I sent him the tickets for our last show in San Bernardino.”

“You _what_?”

“C’mon, Derek,” Aiden said in an ineffective attempt to calm him down before it was too late. “He’s a big fan of ours, and he’d said he couldn’t afford the ticket. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

There was _everything_ wrong with that. Scott was Stiles’ best friend for fuck’s sake, and there was no way he would just shut up about the show and go on his own. Scott was gonna tell Stiles about it, Derek was positive, and he had no idea of how Stiles could react to that. Derek was sure Stiles had received all of his postcards, but he never got any reply – he was on the move with the band, but Stiles had his phone number, or at least he should’ve had it since Derek had tried to call him for weeks. Or maybe Stiles had just deleted it because he didn’t want to have anything to do with Derek, and that was a hell of a possibility.

“It’s just a ticket, Der,” Laura kept on in a soft voice, looking at him as if she was looking at some broken pet.

Derek glared at her when he asked, “What else did you tell him?”

“You mean you wanna know if I told him of how badly you’re pining over his best friend?” she replied with sharp sarcasm that classified her as a true Hale. Laura shrugged. “I didn’t. We just talked. He’s doing fine, by the way, applying for other jobs and stuff. Stiles hadn’t applied for the New York Times yet, apparently he’s not so sure about his journalistic career anymore,” she added in a neutral tone, as if she was just chatting about some old friend of hers. Only she was not.

Derek tried to ignore the way his heart had skipped a beat when Laura had said Stiles’ name and focused on the info she told him instead. He had read Stiles’ articles about him and _The Wolves_ , and it wasn’t bad at all; it wasn’t exactly a pro work, but it was good enough to get published. Stiles had his own way of writing – sarcastic, a bit sour maybe, too colloquial sometimes – and that alone was simply _amazing_ , the way he could play with words and turn them into something beautiful, but Derek knew that wasn’t proper newspapers material. Stiles was more like a blogger, or at least that was what Derek thought about him; he was too direct, too honest, too sharp.

“Scott told me he’s working on something different, but he doesn’t know what that is,” Laura said going back to her magazine. “I think Stiles is sharply talented, but he’d be a waste as a reporter.”

Derek nodded in agreement and she turned another page.

“Oh, and he got your postcards, or at least the latest. Scott’s seen them.”

*

Stiles didn’t even know what to do with his life anymore. He was, in fact, in a deep, dark moment of crisis.

He wanted to write, he knew that; _what_ he wanted to write was the real question.

For the past week he’d been working at the Post as usual, writing stupid articles about how the firemen had saved an old lady’s kitten from a big, bad tree the pet had jumped on, settling the layouts for the prints and dealing with Greengberg’s freaks-out when the poor guy had found out Derek and his beautiful girlfriend had broken up.

That small detail made Stiles’ week a bit brighter and yeah, maybe he had been smiling more, going out more but that wasn’t the point. The point wasn’t even about Derek being single and available, now everything Stiles could think of was the things he’d been writing those days.

It wasn’t another piece to publish with the Post, nor another piece to send together with his application to the NY Times. It was, a matter of fact, pure fiction. The point was, Stiles _loved_ writing it. It was fun, and entertaining, and he just couldn’t stop writing as tons of ideas came to his mind asking him to put them into words and lines on paper.

So far he had written a western short story, another one about witches in Salem back at the trials’ time and a story about two young professionals meeting in Seattle and falling in love. All together Stiles counted more than one hundred pages of writing and it had been stupidly easy for him to write that much.

His mind was spinning at high speed and he’d lost count of all the cans of energy drinks and cups of coffee he’d been drinking just to stay awake and keep on writing until the night was dark and deep and Beacon Hills was asleep all around him. He worked during the day and spent each and every one of his nights writing, and he loved every second of it. His characters became alive before his eyes, page after page after page, and they were so different, and so complex, and so funny Stiles had grown fond of them, all of them, almost immediately.

He was totally in love with Amalia, the red-head who miraculously escaped the Salem trials in sixteen-sixty-six; she was strong and beautiful and alone in the world, but she never complained, never let herself down and Stiles loved her deeply. She was everything he’d never been, and she was a powerful witch who had witnessed an atrocious murder on a winter night. She was the only one to know the truth about Father Cable and the way he used witch-hunting only to cover his own mischiefs and cruelties.

Stiles loved Steven, the Scottish guy who had moved to Seattle to finish his studies and become a doctor. Steve, as his friends used to call him, was the most caring, loyal of friends; he was a bit introverted, always kept it quiet, and had the most beautiful eyes ever, the colour of the sky in a clear day. And Stiles loved Adam, the Californian guy who had travelled the world only to end up living as an ambulance driver in Seattle; it wasn’t the job of his dream and Adam was a bit too harsh to deal with people and their pain, but it would pay the bills and the rent so it was just fine. The two of them had met one night at the hospital, and Adam had immediately fallen for Steve, but had never made his move. Theirs was a troubled story and both of them came from a troubled past, but somehow life had decided to be kind to those poor souls and everything went just fine eventually.

The point was, Stiles cared more about his stories than any article he had ever written before. He loved the way everything came to him naturally and all he had to do was just write it down for them, for those characters he loved so much who would just do the hell they wanted and change whatever plans he’d made for the story.

So maybe, _maybe_ , Stiles’ path wasn’t leading him to journalism anymore, maybe it had never led there. Maybe he was just a storyteller.

*

When _The Wolves_ show in Sacramento ended Derek let Laura and the twins drag him into a pub to drink everything they could possibly manage to. It was, after all, one of the lasts show in their tour and Derek had been so low in the last months he hadn’t enjoyed any of it. He hadn’t enjoyed the crowds, the screams, the lights on the stage; he hadn’t enjoyed Laura and Aiden playing and having the time of their lives, he hadn’t enjoyed Ethan’s wonderful drum skills. Their first, important tour had gone by and Derek had missed it all, the fun and the good, because he was drowning in problems he didn’t know how to solve.

Tonight was different. He had sung like he used to do when they weren’t famous at all, he had played cheerfully with the others, had talked to the crowd and enjoyed their voices and their hands in the air. Probably it had everything to do with his decision to come out of the closet because he’d realized he was just wasting the best part of his life out of stupidity and fear of how people could’ve reacted, and probably it had nothing to do with Scott coming to San Bernardino the next week, nor with Laura telling him Scott was gonna try and bring Stiles along.

So Derek enjoyed the night in the pub like he hadn’t done in ages and when he told Laura and the twins about his resolution to come clear they hugged him tight and drank to that. Screw the _Davis Records_ , they were so great other labels would’ve queued to get a hold on them.

“I think we should close San Bernardino with _The place I belong_ ,” Ethan said after the maid brought them another round of tequila shots. “They loved it in Milwaukee, and even if it’s not recorded yet I think it would be the best to end the tour.”

Aiden nodded and Laura grinned, jumping on her seat and grabbing Aiden’s arm as she started to poke him with a bony finger. “I think it’s _great_ ,” she said, her eyes shiny with alcohol and happiness. “That’s probably one of our best songs _ever_ , everyone loved it and seriously, Der, you should be miserable more often if that makes you write such amazing songs.”

Derek laughed out loud, head tilted on the back, and Laura jumped on his lap to annoy him to death. “That’s the little brother I know,” she whispered to his ear as she messed up his hair. “Please don’t ever scare me like you did.”

Derek let her do whatever she wanted and held her tight, placing a soft kiss on her temple. “I won’t,” he promised.

*

“Would you tell me where are we going already?”

“Would you tell me what was that big pack you mailed the other day?”

Stiles crossed his arms in the passenger’s seat and scowled at the road as Scott kept on driving just within the speed limits. That Saturday morning his best friend had picked him up at his place only to put him on Melissa McCall’s old car, destination: unknown. Stiles had never been one for surprises, and Scott knew that well – still, he managed to drag him on a road trip God knew where.

“Tell me what that was about and I’ll tell you where we’re going,” Scott added with a devilish smirk and Stiles hated him very much, Scott was a horrible best friend. “Fine, Stilinski, let’s keep secrets. I don’t mind.”

“I could call my dad and have you arrested for kidnapping  me, you know that?” Stiles frowned and Scott dismissively shrugged.

“Your dad knows exactly what I’m doing and where we’re going,” he said with a smirk, “and he’s with me on this.”

“You son of a –“

“Hey! That’s my mom you’re talking about here,” Scott reprimanded him with a death glare. “Watch your mouth.”

“Fine,” Stiles said holding a grudge against him. “Kidnap me, whatever.”

“Good.” Scott nodded and reached for the stereo, turning it on and playing a CD. A low, growling bass started playing immediately and a strum followed, loud and clear and high pitched; the drum fit in just before a known voice roared and Stiles shivered. He hadn’t heard his voice in a long, long time, yet it was almost painfully familiar and Stiles then realized how much he’d missed it. Derek’s voice was husky, and low, and rough, and Stiles remembered when Derek had whispered to him on that stage, asking him not to look away. As if Stiles could’ve.

“You don’t have any other CD?” Stiles asked and he maybe sounded a bit more sour than he intended. He cleared his throat and shifted on the seat uncomfortably.  “I mean, it’s –“

“I get it,” Scott cut him off and smiled softly. “I should have some AC/DC in the back seat, see if you can find it.” Scott laughed as Stiles made a face at him, silently complaining about his taste in music. “It’s that or _The Wolves_ , so suck it up,” he added with a laughter.

“There’s no way I’m gonna let my ears bleed to that,” Stiles replied and dejectedly shifted back onto his seat. “The Rolling Stones, Scott! The Beatles! Even One Direction but not this!”

“I’ve always known you were a Directioner inside, my friend. Always.” Stiles punched him hard on his arm and Scott whined. “You’re an asshole,” he asserted with an offended look on his face. “I don’t know why I’m still your friend.”

“I’m a cupcake, Scotty-boy.” Stiles grinned and Scott dramatically rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “You could never find a better friend than me.”

Scott scowled at him and Stiles laughed out loud and for a moment they were teenagers again, stupid and happy and careless. Those years seemed so far now when life had turned out to be more difficult than they expected; when they were young it felt like they were on top of the world and didn’t give a fuck about being losers in high school, they were strong, and invincible, and it was perfect. Then their teen years had gone by and life had been there to scrounge. Find a job, find a place, find your way in this odd, mad world and that was it.

Only that it wasn’t. Stiles had – miraculously – figured that part out by now; he didn’t give a fuck about being a decent person just because society wanted him to, he couldn’t keep his dreams in a dark, moist drawer anymore. It was time to do what he really wanted and yeah, maybe it wasn’t gonna assure him a breath-taking salary, but he didn’t care. He’d rather struggle to pay the rent than be miserable and unhappy for the rest of his life.

Scott nuzzled him with a fond smile lighting up his stupid face and Stiles shook him off but couldn’t hide a smile himself.

“You’re the worst friend _ever_.”

Stiles grinned back at him when he said, “No, you are.”

*

“Do you wanna tell me what the hell are we doing in San Bernardino?”

“Do you wanna tell me what was that pack you mailed the other day?”

“Scott, I’m serious –“ Stiles said looking at the town as Scott drove through the traffic, and he felt a cold sweat.

“It’s just a road trip, Stiles. Relax,” Scott replied glancing at him and for a moment seriously worried about his best friend. What he was gonna do wasn’t exactly fair – but it needed to be done, and Scott was sure that one day Stiles would’ve thanked him. Probably. If he hadn’t kill him first.

“Just a road trip?” Stiles asked intensively looking at him and Scott’s smile cracked a bit. “ _Scott._ ”

“It’s just a live show,” Scott whined as he parked his mother’s car in the already crowded parking lot. In the _huge_ already crowded parking lot. Stiles looked around at the _thousands_ of cars and bikes and, yeah, no way.

“ _Just a live show_?!” he yelled turning to face Scott with a hint of panic in his eyes. “Scott, do you have _any idea_ of how many people are going to watch this freaking thing?!”

“Like, thousands?”

Stiles looked away and tried to breathe. He took a deep breath then exhaled, then did it again; he knew he was going to have a panic attack – just as Scott knew he didn’t like crowded places, not _that_ crowded anyway.

“Stiles, relax, it’s okay,” Scott said in a conciliated voice. He put his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and looked right into his eyes. “Now look at me, ‘kay? I’m here. It’s no big deal, Stiles, just a show.”

Stiles nodded slowly and tried not to think whom show that was. He knew he wasn’t gonna like the answer.

He knew he couldn’t just go back to Melissa’s car and drive back to Beacon Hills, it was kinda pointless now, so he just asked, eyes wet with repressed tears, “Why are you doing this?”

Scott pulled him into  a bear hug and whispered to his ears, “Because I’m your best friend.”

*

Getting to the first row was easy – Scott showed their tickets at the entrance and a big, bad security guy escorted them through the crowd, leaving them right in front of the stage like in a déjà-vu. Stiles tried not to look at all the people in the immense arena and focused on his breathing instead, eyeing the stage from time to time only to find technicians at work before the sound-check.

Derek was there, Stiles knew it. And not only because that was the last _The Wolves_ show before the end of the tour, he  could just _feel_ it; he knew Derek was somewhere in the backstage, he could almost smell his scent. It felt like some kind of electricity on his skin, a pungent scent on the tip of his tongue and Stiles just knew.

He wondered if Derek was feeling the same, if he could feel him the same way Stiles was feeling Derek.

Stiles’ heart was beating at a high pace, drumming in his chest, and he was deaf to the thousands of voices in the arena as he could only feel his own heartbeat loud and clear, everything else was just noise all around him.

And then, he saw him. He felt him before even turning to the stage and again, Stiles knew; he knew Derek was there, eyes to the  crowd, before he could even see him. Turning to the stage Stiles felt like a lump in his throat, so big and so heavy it could easily suffocate him. Derek was there, stock still next to his mic, eyes scanning the crowd and then, as if Derek felt him, his look moved right to the spot Stiles was standing and oh God, _his eyes_. Stiles felt his guts turning heavy inside of him and gasped as if he got punched in the stomach.

Derek looked amazing in his usual leather pants, the same Stiles had took off him when they’d fucked in the backstage room back in LA. But Derek’s eyes were heavy with emotions Stiles couldn’t even start to list – he looked sad, and tired, and frustrated; he looked angry, and lonely, and _desperate_ and Stiles hated to see him like that. It just hurt.

Derek opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something despite the noise and the screams, then closed it again and just stared at him, and Stiles felt sick. He couldn’t do it, he just couldn’t – what did he think? He couldn’t stare in Derek’s eyes, not after all that time, not ever – not when Derek was the only guy Stiles couldn’t have, not when it hurt so much to be so close and yet too far. They didn’t belong and no matter how hard Stiles tried to believe otherwise, that was not gonna change anything.

“I can’t – “

“Stiles, what –“

“I can’t, Scott.” Stiles looked away from Derek and turned to face his best friend instead, his whole body shaking, his face pale. He ran his hands in his hair and tried to explain but it was too much – Derek, the feelings, the fear and the pain, everything was just too much and he couldn’t stand it. He’d tried for months to forget about Derek, about what they’d shared; he’d tried not to think of him or his stupid postcards – and he’d failed. But this, this wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, bringing all the sharp pain into his life again and Scott couldn’t force him to stay.

“I can’t do –“

“This,” Derek said to the microphone and the crowd thundered all around them, hands raised to the air, people jumping on the spot just to get a clearer vision of the stage. Stiles turned around and then looked at Scott again, panic in his eyes. “I, uhm, this wasn’t actually planned.”

Stiles saw Laura rushing to the stage, her guitar already in her arms, and Aiden followed, grabbing his electric bass while Ethan almost tripped on his feet on his way to the drums.

“We were thinking of using this song to close the show,” Derek continued with a small, insecure smile and Stiles sobbed at his voice – low, uncertain. “But, uhm… it’s not recorded yet, and Milwaukee knows something about it. The point is – this is a special song and we thought it was gonna be perfect to end our first, incredible tour. But now.”

Derek’s eyes fixed in Stiles’ and Stiles’ heart jumped in his chest.

“But now I think it’s time,” Derek said, his expression serious and maybe just a bit scared. Laura walked to Aiden and together they started tuning their instruments, whispering at each other. “This song was inspired by someone special, probably the best person I’ve ever met, and I don’t think this person does know about it. You know who you are,” Derek’s voice lowered and he looked at his feet for a moment, cheeks turning red. When he looked up at the crowd again his eyes were shiny with determination and something else Stiles could not recognize. “This is for you. Because no matter how far away we are, you’re the one I think about.”

Stiles stood still and silent against the noisy crowd, eyes fixed on Derek.

“No matter how hard you’ll try to push me away, I will always come back. Because when I’m with you I’m a better person than I could ever _dream_ of being, and I miss you.”

Scott placed a hand on Stiles’ arm but Stiles didn’t notice, swallowed up in Derek’s words.

“I miss you,” Derek said again and the crowd aaawed in one dreamy sigh. “And I’m sorry if I’ve tried too hard even when you made it clear you didn’t want to hear from me again. I’m sorry but I can’t help it. I can’t help missing you, I can’t stop –“

Stiles held his breath altogether with all of the other people in the arena and a small, annoying part of him reminded him of Derek’s girlfriend. But this wasn’t for her, was it?

“I can’t stop,” Derek continued, his voice just a whisper now, “ _being in love with you_. It just happened – you walked in my life and it happened. I fell in love with you that night in that hotel room, and I can honestly say I’m not sorry about that. I can honestly say you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Stiles couldn’t move now, couldn’t even _think_ ; his brain was blacking out completely and he would’ve stopped breathing if that had required his full attention – luckily it didn’t and it was natural, mechanic instead or he would’ve dropped dead there and then.

“Thank you for showing me a better world,” Derek said and Stiles felt like he could throw up any time now. “Thank you because even if you don’t want to be part of my life anymore, you’ve been. Briefly, but you’ve been there and the world looked better when I shared it with you. I believe it just looks better through your eyes, and not because they’re the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Laura walked back to her position and she and Aiden exchanged a nod, no words were needed. Ethan nodded as well and when Laura finally caught Derek’s look she smiled softly at him, her fingers ready on the guitar strings. As she played the first notes the crowd roared with voices and shrieks and Derek shook his head as he looked into Stiles’ eyes.

“You’re the only voice,” he said and Stiles nodded almost without noticing. “You’re the only one I hear above the noise and no matter what happens, you’ll always be the place I belong.”

When Derek started singing Stiles felt like he could cry.

That song… that song was for him, he had no more doubts now. He could barely hear Laura’s soft guitar, Aiden’s rhythmic bass or Ethan’s cadenced drums; he even forgot the crowd surrounding him and classified it as mere, disturbing noise he didn’t need right now. That left Derek. Derek and his voice and his words and his stupidly beautiful eyes; Derek and his deep look, Derek and his lips almost kissing the mic and Stiles knew it then, it had always been Derek.

All those months spent feeling awful – that was Derek’s fault. His writer’s block, his hate towards the articles he couldn’t write – Derek’s fault. Writing something different just to get rid of that stupid block, writing _stories_ he ended up loving more than any reports – that was Derek as well. Derek had made him go through hell and back, drowning in a vortex of feelings Stiles had never felt before; Derek had pushed him off the path he had chosen and Stiles ended  up wandering, lost and confused, only to find his way at the end of that particularly awful journey.

Stiles started writing fiction to get rid of the feeling of Derek’s presence wrapped around him like a blanket and found himself instead. And Derek had always been there, all the freaking time. He never left, no matter how hard Stiles tried to erase him from his life – he was just there, with his stupid postcards and his stupid words Stiles had always read in his stupid voice.

_The night is black but your eyes shine bright_

_lighting up the way._

_The path is not dark if you shine by my side_

_So please come back, don't ever go –_

_I dont wanna be alone (without you)._

_I'm a wolf and you're my pack,_

_you're the strength I've never had,_

_you showed me life and what it's like_

_to live unashamed._

And Derek had never stop thinking about him. Derek had written Stiles a freaking song and yeah, maybe Stiles could freak out about it a bit.

Derek wanted him badly even when everything Stiles did was pushing him away, Derek never gave up – that song, the way he was singing it looking right at Stiles as if the crowd wasn’t even there, that was Derek not giving up. That was Derek keeping on trying and Stiles felt horrible because all that time he’d been thinking Derek was just playing him – but he wasn’t, and Stiles could see it in his eyes. Derek was telling with a song all the things Stiles hadn’t wanted to hear over a stupid phone, all the things Derek had told him already with every postcard he’d sent but Stiles had been too scared to read.

_And just like the wolves I have found my way_

_through the woods and the leaves as the moon shines full and the stars hide._

_Like a wolf i followed a scent_

_and it took me home where i belong._

Scott couldn’t take his eyes off Laura playing softly, he couldn’t take his eyes off Ethan’s arms moving rhythmically or off Aiden’s closed eyes. He couldn’t take his eyes off Derek as well and Derek looked so focused, as if he wasn’t even there; Derek seemed to be on a different level than the rest of the bands, than all the people there to watch them live, and Scott finally could see with his own eyes what Laura had tried to tell him over the phone.

Derek had been longing for Stiles, same way Stiles had been trying to hide how lonely he was feeling. Scott had noticed, of course, and he’d tried to help but had found himself unable to. Stiles hadn’t only pushed Derek away, he’d isolated himself from everyone around him and had preferred privacy instead. The Sheriff had been worried sick about his son and had asked Scott to figure out what was wrong – Scott knew already, so he’d told him.

And the Sheriff – Stiles’ wonderful, amazing dad – had asked him to get Stiles to the next show so his son could just deal with the whole thing. Great man, Mr Stilinski.   

_You're the red hood in the woods_

_the hand that pulled me out of nightmares_

_So please come back, don' ever go_

_You're the place that i belong._

Silence fell on the arena as Derek sang that beautiful new song and when the song ended the crowd didn’t yell. Nobody screamed or talked or even applauded the band for an infinite minute, and when Scott turned to look at Stiles he couldn’t find his best friend anywhere. He called for him and looked through the people all pressed together but Stiles wasn’t there.

Derek, Scott noticed, looked as shocked as he was himself. It was entirely possible Stiles gave in to another of his horrible panic attacks, but he would’ve at least called for him. Scott knew how dangerous Stiles’ attacks could be and he kept on looking everywhere, moving frantically in the now screaming crowd just to try catching a glimpse of him. He turned back to the stage and saw Derek walking to the left side  of it while Laura and the twins looked confused as if they had no clue of what was going on.

Scott followed Derek’s movements until the lead singer stopped only to yell at some guys from the security – and Stiles was there. Right under the stage, fighting to go through the security, probably headed to the back. Scott sighed in relief – at least Stiles was alright, and maybe he’d finally gotten the message.

Derek reached his hand towards him and Stiles firmly grabbed his arm, pulling up and rolling onto the stage. When he got back on his feet he looked tense and speechless and yeah, that was the moment Scott and Laura had been waiting for.

Scott couldn’t help but notice all the cameras and phones people held in their hands, and he thought of what Laura had told him few weeks back – Derek, the contract with the label, all the chaos that could’ve come from just one wrong move – but in that moment Derek didn’t seem to care. He stepped closer to Stiles never breaking the eye-contact and slowly looked for Stiles’ hands, gently brushing it with his own. Stiles opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, then shut it again as if he just couldn’t find the words; when Derek looked intensively in his best friend’s eyes Scott saw Stiles shaking a bit, right before leaning into Derek’s touch, erasing the distance between them with a small, trembling step.

Derek didn’t seem to care about all the cameras pointed at him when he tugged Stiles closer and kissed him deeply.

*

Stiles automatically put his arms around Derek’s neck, loving the warm feeling of Derek’s arms all wrapped around his waist. He let Derek deepen the kiss and inclined his head a bit and oh, Derek’s beard was gonna make his face all itchy and red but Stiles couldn’t give a damn, really.

“Dude,” he said parting from Derek because, oh, he needed to breathe, and suddenly the noise rose all around them as if someone had pushed the ‘play’ button again after putting on pause for a long time. “Do you realize this is supposed to be your last live show yeah?”

Derek smiled on his lips and hugged him tighter, hands running all over Stiles’ back and giving him shivers down his spine. “You’re here.”

“So are thousands of people.” Stiles gulped when Derek laughed, his eyes bright and his lips stretched to show his ridiculously beautiful teeth. “With phones. And cameras.”

Stiles turned around only to find the crowd in the arena laughing and screaming at them – and then, Peter, right in the backstage with an homicidal look on his face. _Ouch._

“You’re here,” Derek repeated rubbing his nose against Stiles’ cheek and Stiles couldn’t help but smile because, man, that was freaking adorable. “Them? Just noise.”

Stiles kissed him again briefly, then fixed his eyes in Derek’s as he asked, “And the girl?”

Derek pressed their foreheads together and sighed, eyes closed for a long moment and Stiles could hear his heart beating furiously under his chest. “Long story,” Derek said then looked up to him, “just wait for the show to end.”

Stiles nodded and slowly pulled back, still standing in front  of the man who had made his life a living hell for a while.

“Let’s add her to the list of things we’ll need to talk about,” he said in a low, uncertain voice and Derek pulled him in for another kiss before letting him go.

“Just –“ he said and Stiles’ heart jumped a bit because really, what now? They’d just started clearing things up and seriously, he knew for sure he couldn’t take any more – “Just don’t go.”

Stiles didn’t know if that was referred to the stage or to a more generic life-time but, yeah, he could definitely agree with that. “Not going anywhere,” he replied with a smile and squeezed Derek’s hand gently, heading to a corner of the stage and sitting down on the worn out wood. Derek smiled back at him, his ears as red as his cheeks when he got back to his mic and cleared his throat in front of all his fans.

Stiles smirked at Laura and the twins and never took his eyes off Derek for the rest of the show.

*

It took only few hours for the internet to be filled with pictures of Derek Hale kissing a guy on stage. Each picture got billions of comments from fans all over the world, some people describing how adorable it had been seeing those two on stage while some other were just horrified and the press didn’t missed its chance to review Derek’s past love-life, speculating about his previous girlfriend being nothing but a beard. Of course, there had been people speculating the same months and months before, and now they were just celebrating the outing of one of the sexiest guys on the entire planet.

When Derek took Stiles to his tour-bus right after the show to tell him _everything_ Stiles sat down and listened carefully and, wow, Derek spared him no details. So he had been wrong – all those months thinking of Derek as an asshole only to find out about the label and the contract and the management instead. Derek had been trying to talk to him all along and Stiles, well, he had kept on turning him down and he felt badly now knowing how things had really been.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said looking down at his shoes just because he couldn’t stand the look in Derek’s eyes. “I’m sorry for thinking you were a douche; I’m sorry for turning down all of your calls. I’m sorry I didn’t even give you the chance to –“

“It’s okay,” Derek whispered sliding on the small couch next to him and smoothly caressing his back with a warm, steady hand. “You didn’t know.”

“I’ve been an asshole.” Stiles didn’t turn to look at him and sighed, cupping his face in his hands. “I thought – oh, God, and I’ve tried not to think about you but then I got your postcards and, seriously? How the hell could you possibly – no, you know what? I don’t care.”

Derek let out a small laugh and nuzzled Stiles’ neck, placing a soft kiss on his jawline. “So you got the postcards.”

“Are you kidding?” Stiles quickly turned to face him, eyes wide-open. “I got each and every one of them, and I hated you so much for just writing the right thing all the freaking time. There’s still something you haven’t told me though.”

“Which is?” Derek asked as he kept on kissing Stiles slowly; he didn’t miss the shiver of Stiles’ body when he reached the base of his neck and smiled on his skin, lips never interrupting contact.

“How did you get my address?” Stiles asked tilting back his head so to give Derek free access to the most sensible part of his body. “How the hell did you get my phone number in the first place?”

Derek slid a hand between Stiles’ legs and got rewarded with a low moan that made his whole body tense with lust. “Scott,” he mumbled before laying Stiles down and topping him immediately, bodies trembling at the contact they’d been longing for. Stiles thought he should’ve killed Scott immediately but that was before Derek grabbed his already hard cock through the jeans and well, Scott could’ve waited a bit more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* Epilogue *

 

 

When Stiles woke up he rolled in the bed only to find it empty. He grunted and blindly looked for something to wear, his hand running through the sheets; he eventually found a t-shirt and the boxers he’d lost the night before and left the bedroom, climbing barefoot down the stairs. As he reached the ground floor a delicious smell hit him and Stiles rushed off to the kitchen, eyes semi-closed, too sleepy to do anything but follow the scent.

“You, breakfast?” he mumbled when he saw Derek all focused into cooking. Derek was an amazing cook, he’d proven it on all the indoor dates he and Stiles had in those months and seriously, Stiles loved his cooking. Derek never believed his compliments and always thought Stiles was just making fun of him instead, but Stiles didn’t care. Derek was just like that – well, Stiles just needed more time to make him understand how sincere he was, because Derek obviously had trust issues and all that crap but yeah, they had all the time in the world so it wasn’t that much of a big deal.

Derek turned to look at him and a soft smile immediately stretched his lips.

“Yeah,” he said in a warm voice and Stiles wanted to kiss him badly, “thought you’d be hungry. Here, coffee.”

Stiles finally reached him and hugged him from behind, caressing his torso and placing wet kisses on Derek’s bare shoulders.

“Best,” he said, then another kiss, “boyfriend,” and another, Stiles could never get enough of kissing him everywhere anytime, “ever.”

Derek laughed and turned in his arms to face him. Stiles’ brain blacked out completely at the sight of Derek in his usual morning suit – tank top and joggers – and yeah, probably it wasn’t anything special but Derek looked awesome in everything, so. Besides, Stiles loved all of Derek’s tank tops and the way it always made Derek’s arms look all nice and muscly.

“I’m starting to think you’re not awake at all.”

“Duh.” Stiles scowled at him and shut him with a kiss. Derek’s hands ran instinctively to Stiles’ hips and he leant closer, deepening the kiss. Stiles moaned, _of course_ , and Derek smiled, pulling away but keeping a hold on him.

“So, coffee?” he asked and Stiles gratefully nodded, kissing him briefly one more time and taking the cup Derek was handing him. “Go and –“ Derek said, but Stiles was already on it, sit at the kitchen table and waiting. Derek shook his head and managed to hide a smile. “Go and have a sit, I’ll bring the food.”

Stiles absently waved his hand at him and looked at the brown package on the table in front of him with a questioning expression. Derek did as he’d promised, brought two plates full of eggs and bacon and bread and other awesome things, leaving one right in front of Stiles before catching his look.

“That came with the mail this morning,” Derek said with a smile, handing the package to Stiles. “I think it’s for you.”

Of course Derek knew it was for him. Stiles knew it as well, but being able to hold that _thing_ was – weird, yeah, it was weird and exciting and Stiles could even forget about breakfast because, c’mon, he had to open it and take a look. So he did; he opened the brown carton under Derek’s attentive look and stared at the book in his hands as if he just couldn’t believe it.

“So…” Stiles croaked, unsure whether he wanted to open the book or not. He cleared his voice, took a second look then decided that no, that wasn’t the right moment to do it; he put the book back in its package and handed it to Derek in a nervous twitch. “Uhm, you know, you open it. Not now, you dumbass.” Stiles glared at him and Derek put the package back on the table, a stupid smile on his stupid face. “Later.”

“I have practise with the guys later,” Derek objected but he knew that wasn’t gonna change anything. Stiles waved his hands as to empathize his, “After the practise,” and fell silent, focusing on his breakfast instead.

He didn’t know if he was really ready for this. Well, he’d been waiting for this moment to come _for months_ now but facing it was a different matter; he wasn’t even sure if he was ready for Derek to read it, which was absurd because everyone else was but, well, Derek wasn’t everyone else. Derek was the one who unconsciously helped him find himself and Stiles had already told him he loved him – something like _a thousand times_ – but this was not it. This was – Stiles would’ve said “private” but that sounded a bit weird. He and Derek shared something special, and private, and awesome, still _this_ was another level of private; this was Stiles, just Stiles, everything he’d felt, everything he’d been through that had led him right where he was now. It had been a long journey, uneasy at some point, but he’d made it – and Derek knew about it, Derek _knew everything_ , so Stiles didn’t really have any reason to be anxious about this, did he?

*

Derek parked his car at the entrance of the rehearsal studio and turned the engine off. He was a few minutes late already but the others knew him well by now – punctuality wasn’t his thing, really, so a few more minutes were not gonna change anything.

He took the package from the passenger’s seat and carefully opened it, as if it was something valuable he didn’t want to break.

And it was.

It was a hard-cover book and the layout on the front was simple and natural, a picture of what Derek recognized being Beacon Hills Preserve. The Preserve continued on the back but the angle changed and Derek found himself staring at his family house as it once had been before he and Laura had rebuilt it years back. He touched the house with trembling fingers and smiled softly at the memories it evocated, his sight going blurry for a moment or two.

Finally Derek opened the book at the last page, the one he loved the most.

_Many, many thanks to my editor and friend (-ish) Lydia Martin, who is made of badassness and scariness and used to freak the hell out of me in high school. Seriously, you’re the best._

Derek laughed in the silence of his car and couldn’t help but hear Stiles’ familiar voice in his mind.

_Thanks to my dad for not killing me when I told him I didn’t want to be a journalist anymore – and he could’ve. Besides, as BH Sheriff he could’ve easily hidden my dead body so, uh, thanks dad. I love you._

_To my best friend Scott, because he’s always there for me when I need him the most – that doesn’t mean he’s not a pain in the neck sometimes, on the contrary, he can be obnoxious and unbearable, but still._

_Last but not least, the most special “Thank You” of all to the person who inspired me all of this_.

Derek held the book tighter in his hands and kept on reading Stiles’ words with a lump in his throat as if that was the first time he’d heard them – and it kind of was.

_If I hadn’t met him I wouldn’t probably be here today, changing my life and everything. He gave me the strength to face a blank piece of paper, the courage to write what I really wanted to and not what I had to; he taught me that nothing is impossible, that you can fight for what’s important to you and, most importantly, you can win._

_So, thank you. Thank you for not giving up on me, thank you for keeping on fighting; thank you for completing me the way you do. Thank you for everything_.

Derek smiled in the safety of his car, a silent tear running down his cheek, then opened the book at the very first page and found something else, right after the title and before the first chapter.

 

_To you, my everything. The place I belong._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a couple of things. Davis Records, that's an easy one and I bet you noticed.
> 
> Then, the Google search for 'writer's block'; I actually typed it in and what Stiles read is what I found online. Sometimes, when I find myself in Stiles' shoes, I do that - writing excercises. And it helps a bit. 
> 
> The song, The Place I Belong. I am sorry if the lyrics is crap, I had to come up with something and that's the only result that I (almost) liked. So yeah, it's all mine and blame it to me if it sucks too much.
> 
> The San Bernardino show. For those of you who happen to be My Chemical Romance fans, well, that must be an easy link. For those of you who don't have a clue of what I'm talking about, here comes the explanation: one of MCR shows was in San Bernardino, and that's where one of the most beautiful and intense (and totally crazy) Frerard kisses happened. Here, it's where Stiles and Derek finally understand they're made for each other so rainbows, marshmallows and all the sweets in the world. Take it a bit like a tribute to a band who'd been with me for years, a band I deeply cared about and loved. And even if they're not together anymore, well, they'll always be in my heart and memories.
> 
> Also, all those little 'above the noise' references. I wrote this fanfiction listening to McFly, more specifically to their Shine a Light. This song kind of inspired me this work, so well. Those guys deserve a big thank you from me, because their music makes me happy and helps me write and I can't wait to see them live in London soon. 
> 
> And this is pretty much it. I really hope you like this, I absolutely loved writing it and yeah, maybe I'm a bit sad it's over - but who knows, maybe one day they'll come back. 
> 
> So, well, thanks. Thanks for the positive feedback so far, thanks for appreciating this little thing. And again, sorrysorrysorry about that mistake, I really don't know what happened to me.  
> X


End file.
